


the probability of (not) being yours

by bitsori



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst with a Happy Ending, Childhood Friends, Complicated Relationships, Exes, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Mutual Pining, Non-Linear Narrative, POV Alternating, Parental Death, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, minsungbingo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-14
Updated: 2020-03-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:55:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 25,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22896019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bitsori/pseuds/bitsori
Summary: In a world where 90% of its total population manage to meet their Fated before the ripe, young age of 30,  Minho and Jisung come to learn that they arenotsoulmates.Nevertheless, thisisa love story. ( AU )[Russian]
Relationships: Han Jisung | Han/Lee Minho | Lee Know, Hwang Hyunjin/Kim Seungmin/Seo Changbin, Kim Seungmin & Lee Minho | Lee Know, Lee Seoyeon & Han Jisung | Han, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 78
Kudos: 400
Collections: MINSUNG BINGO: Round One, best fanfictions my eyes have seen yeah, drop everything and read this





	1. before :

**Author's Note:**

> [ ☆ ] i always wanted to write a soulmates au with minho and jisung, but i didn't want it to just be a straight up soulmates au. i wasn't sure how i was going to do that, then somehow one day, a conversation with [undelicate](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bitsori) drew this plot out. (so! thank you miss ao3 user undelicate! also for reading through the first part when i was so close to giving up.)
> 
> [ ☆ ] this was also partly inspired by this [letters to crushes entry](http://letterstocrushes.com/letter/802302).
> 
> [ ☆ ] also using this fic to fill a few boxes of my first [minsung bingo](http://twitter.com/minsungbingo) card, namely: **non-linear narrative, flashbacks,** [free space] **au - soulmates** , and (slightly cheating here but it counts!) **public sex**. the last one is just a brief scene in chapter one, but feel free to skip it if you want.
> 
> [ ☆ ] writing this was kinda like pulling teeth in a lot of parts, since it has a lot of introspective angst that im not really used to writing? i hope you enjoy reading this anyway, and you make it to the end ;;;

Jisung hears the scuffling sound of feet walking towards him, but he doesn't need to look up to know who it is. The cadence of the steps are so familiar to him even after approximately two years of not having heard from – much more actually _seen_ – the approaching person.

“Han Jisung.”

Minho only stops once he's standing right in front of him, his shadow looming over Jisung himself. His voice still has that naturally soft & gentle feel to it – or maybe it seems like that only because of the specific calming effect it has on Jisung, he isn't sure. It’s kind of like a chicken or egg situation.

“Lee Minho,” he answers, looking up finally to meet Minho's gaze, only for his breath to catch unexpectedly.

He had seen Minho earlier at the funeral, of course. Minho had been standing with his parents, while Jisung stayed by his brother’s side the entire time. At one point their eyes had met, very briefly, but overall the two of them had not exchanged a single word, and it's only now that Jisung is looking at him again in such close proximity. It's unfair, because of course Minho still looks absolutely beautiful—as if God, or whatever Powers That Be exist, was in the most magnanimous and inspired mood when they created him.

Minho's mouth curves into a small smile, and when he reaches over to gently ruffle his hair, Jisung doesn't protest even though he's a fully grown 25 year old man. For a second, he even leans towards the touch without meaning to—it comes naturally for him, a habit that hasn't been broken despite them having long been apart.

And then Minho retracts his hand, and Jisung lets out a soft, barely audible whine without meaning to. Minho quirks an eyebrow questioningly, but he doesn't comment out loud. He steps away, and moves to park himself on the empty swing seat right next to the one occupied by Jisung.

“How did you find me?” Jisung asks, hands gripping tightly at the swing chains as he gently kicks off the ground.

Minho shrugs. “I dropped by your house after I had dinner with my parents. Your brother said you went out—figured you'd be here, if anywhere.”

Right. Minho _figured,_ because of course he did—because he still knows Jisung best. For some reason, the thought stings, but it makes him smile as well.

Silence takes over a while, with only the rusty squeaking of the swing chains softly echoing around them. It should be awkward, but it isn't. The quiet, and Minho’s simple presence has brought Jisung a kind of comfort that nothing else has – not the cheesecake Chan had given him for free yesterday, not the empty condolences distant relatives have been offering him all day, not even their family dog, Geum’s regular nuzzling and cosying up against him.

Still, he's the first one to break silence after he drags his heels against the ground to abruptly stop his own swinging.

“I missed you,” is what he says.

Minho remains silent, but then he offers his right hand to Jisung, and when Jisung accepts the gesture, he clasps their hands together, squeezing tightly but comfortably. That's how Jisung knows that Minho feels the same.

“How long are you going to be in town?” Minho asks.

 _For good,_ Jisung wants to say because he's tired of staying away. _Forever,_ because he doesn't see a point to not being around anymore.

“A few days,” he answers out loud because for now that's the actual truth. He has a life away not just from this town now, but away from this country – away from Minho.

“Is Seoyeon going to be around, too?” There’s something in the way he asks – something about his tone that hints at melancholy but Jisung wills himself to ignore it. He derives no pleasure in reading Minho anymore – it's just unfortunate that it comes to him so naturally.

“Ah, no, she’s visiting her parents in Seoul this weekend, and then after I finish here, I’m joining her and then…” He trails off, and simply lets Minho assume that he’s set to fly back to Japan with Seoyeon once all his business in South Korea is taken care off.

“I see.” Minho nods, and then he falls back into silence but he doesn't let go of Jisung's hand at all. “I’m staying for the weekend too,” he offers. “With my parents.”

“Seungmin around?” Jisung isn’t really sure if he wants to know the answer, but he figures it’s polite to ask, considering Minho inquired about Seoyeon.

“He’s busy with work,” Minho says. “He sends his condolences though.

Jisung hums in response; there’s a lot more he can probably ask, but he doesn’t really want to stay on this topic anymore.

“Hey,” Minho picks up the conversation once more after several seconds of silence. “Remember when we had that cat funeral for BonBon?”

The memory makes Jisung laugh despite himself. It shouldn't be funny, not under that day's circumstances, and it certainly wasn't funny eleven years ago when the event mentioned had occurred – BonBon was Minho's pet cat from childhood, and he had been devastated when he passed – but for some reason, remembering that time makes Jisung laugh.

“I loved that cat a disproportionate amount,” Minho murmurs softly.

“Yes you did,” Jisung agrees. The day BonBon died was the first time Jisung had seen tears in Minho’s eyes, and to this day, he can still count the amount of times this has happened again, on one hand.

“Sorry about your mom,” Minho says, after a short pause.

Jisung hums. “I’m sorry too,” he says, trying to sound glib, but even he can hear the clear exhaustion in his own tone.

  
  


~

  
  


In a world where 90% of its total population manage to meet their soulmates before the ripe, young age of 30, Minho and Jisung came crashing into each other's lives when Minho was only 15, and Jisung, 13.

 _Literally_ crashing, as 13 year old Jisung, while skateboarding down the road had failed to brake just as 15 year old Minho was turning around a blind corner on his bike. They were lucky that they'd come out of the unfortunate collision with only skinned knees (Jisung) and a sprained wrist (Minho), mostly thanks to the latter who had managed to steer and swerve quite abruptly at the last second.

“We're more than lucky to be honest,” Jisung used to say, grin always toothy and cheeks always full. “We found each other, didn't we?”

The unfortunate caveat that they did learn until many years later: they aren't exactly Soulmates.

They didn't know it at the time, as soul marks don't appear on your body until the year that you turn 20. Before then, all you have is the feeling in your gut – that was something else that Jisung used to say.

(But as it happened his gut was wrong, and they were only the average type of lucky after all.)

Minho’s family was new in town when he had first met Jisung. They had moved there in the middle of the year, during summer break right before the fall school term was about to start.

Jisung – despite the very unorthodox manner by which they met – turned out to be the boy living in the house next door. They had figured this out after Jisung, guilt ridden because of Minho’s injury, insisted on taking the older boy home with him.

“My mom's a nurse,” he explained. “She would know what to do.”

And then he had led the way to his house, only for Minho to let out a surprised squeak once they made the turn to their street.

“That's where I live,” he said, pointing to the small house where he, his parents, and his beloved BonBon had moved into just the day prior.

“Oh!” Jisung's big, button eyes had grown wide, and then he pointed at the two-storey that stood next to it. “That's where _I_ live,” he explained. “Guess it's fate we ran into each other.”

Minho quirked an eyebrow and lifted his hand to showcase his hurt wrist. _“This_ is fate?”

Jisung at least had the gall to look sheepish as he led Minho to his house. “Fate works in mysterious ways?” He offered with obvious uncertainty. “That's what they say.”

They spent the week after that inseparable; at first it was because Jisung offered his services in helping Minho unpack and set up his bedroom. After all, Minho suddenly didn't have much use for his right hand, and Jisung said that he wanted to take responsibility. He mostly ended up going through Minho’s manhwa library instead, while the older boy did most of the heavy lifting. Minho would complain, except he was never really the type to complain – besides, he was ambidextrous and Jisung turned out to be pretty amusing company, even though all he did was provide running commentary to the volumes of One Piece he was reading while Minho put posters up in his room and assembled a cat tree for BonBon.

When school finally started up again, the two of them had arranged to bike together in the morning. Minho’s wrist was fully functional again, but Jisung said it didn't matter – they were friends, they were neighbors, and they went to the same school, so it was simply a given they go together.

Minho had been surprised at the ease by which Jisung started calling him 'friend’ but he was the new kid in town, so he wasn't about to just knock off such gracious hospitality. He figured Jisung, from the quick and easy way he had befriended him, was just being Jisung – naturally friendly and drawn to people.

He was wrong, though, and it didn't take Minho long to realise that. At school, they were in different years – Minho was in his last year of junior high school, while Jisung was only in his first, which meant that their classrooms were at opposite ends of the same building.

Minho has never been the type to shy away from attention, and as a good looking transferee, all his classmates were immediately drawn to him. By lunch time, he had a small group of friends surrounding him, so he proudly messaged Jisung, joking that he didn't need to take any more pity on his new in town neighbor because he managed to do well for himself just fine. (He even took a picture with his seatmate which he sent to Jisung, but years later, if he’s to be honest, he would admit that he just really wanted an excuse to text Jisung at the time.)

And then lunch period had rolled around, and as Minho queued in line so he can get himself a roll of bread or kimbap, he had spotted Jisung seated in a far corner of the cafeteria, all by himself, bright red noise cancelling headphones fitted over his ears while he busied himself with something on his phone as he ate his lunch. This was not the image of Han Jisung at lunchtime that Minho had originally conjured – with Jisung’s perpetually bright and warm countenance, he had expected to see him surrounded by friends, laughing as he soaked up everyone's attention.

Minho got himself a cheesy kimbap roll and a carton of chocolate milk before excusing himself from his classmates and making a beeline towards Jisung – who didn’t even notice him at first, not until Minho took the empty seat across him and reached over to clap his hands right in front of his face.

Jisung had been caught in surprise – so startled that he almost jumped right out of his seat. Minho laughed, while Jisung hissed at him.

“Why are you alone today?” Minho asked. “Where are your friends?”

Jisung shrugged. “I like eating alone.”

“Do you, really?” Minho squinted at him.

“Sure,” Jisung shrugged. “I’m used to it.”

“Jisungie, do you not have friends?” Perhaps that wasn’t the most tactful question, but Minho has always preferred being straightforward to being polite.

Jisung blinked at him, clearly taken aback. “Aren’t _you_ my friend?” He shot back eventually.

This made Minho smile, for some reason. He is, he’d thought. He was Jisung’s friend, so his question had been pretty stupid. “So you don’t mind if I eat here with you, then?”

Jisung had broken out the widest grin, and even then Minho had felt something stir in his stomach. He liked Jisung’s smile, and he’d do anything to keep it on the boy’s face, he had concluded.

“Suit yourself,” Jisung agreed; and then he put his headphones back on so he can go back to watching whatever it was on his phone (some old Japanese movie, Minho would later learn), and Minho would have told him off for it, but somehow, eating in silence with Jisung wasn’t awkward in any way at all.

  
  


~

  
  


Jisung is confused.

He doesn’t know how he and Minho went from quiet yet comfortable companionship at the park – mind you, the same park where they used to spend late nights at together instead of going straight home after cram school; where they used to huddle close together at the top of the slide tower if they wanted a change of pace from the swings; where they either individually busied themselves on their phones, content with the simple presence of each other, or they talked about anything and everything under the sun (moon, if one was to be technical, or more accurately a blanket of stars on nights when the moon preferred to hide) – to _this._

To _right now._

They’re in the backseat of Minho’s car, parked across the street from their old high school. Minho’s lips are latched onto Jisung’s skin, right at the junction where his neck and the curve of his shoulder met. He’s nipping, and nibbling and Jisung is biting down his bottom lip, trying not to make too many noises, but it’s not really working.

He’s pretty sure that Minho is leaving a mark, which he really shouldn’t be doing; to be frank, Jisung is more than aware that Minho is abusing the exact patch of skin right next the spot where his soulmark is etched, a small dotted spiral that looks like it was drawn in the darkest, blackest ink.

Perhaps he should tell Minho to stop, especially if he doesn’t want to explain hickeys on his person, but he can’t do it. Instead he keeps his fingers threaded through Minho’s hair – which is getting long now, longer than it ever was in the past, when they were younger – as he keeps him in place; as his body naturally arches towards Minho, effectively offering himself up to the older man. The truth is that he likes the idea of being marked by Minho – like he is Minho’s, and Minho is his, just as they grew up thinking—or rather, _assuming._

The first time Jisung laid eyes on Minho, he’d been too panicked to really take in his appearance. Jisung had been wracked with guilt because of their little accident, and he had nervously focused on getting Minho home so his mother could provide the new boy in town with the rightful care his injury needed.

Then the anxiety passed as his mother took care of Minho, and as Jisung relaxed, he finally managed a good look at the other boy. He doesn't know if Minho had realised it at the time (and Jisung had never clarified it any time during the decade that has passed since), but he had spent a good minute marveling at his face while his mother wrapped his wrist in cloth bandages.

Needless to say, he'd always had a crush on Minho, even before he knew what a crush was supposed to feel like. And then they'd become friends, and then _best_ friends, and then— _more._

The transitions in the stages of their relationship, even then, were blurry and confusing. It was hard to pinpoint and explain how they went from one step to the next, and if you had asked Jisung at 18, he would have said that it didn't really matter. He and Minho were he and Minho.

It’s like that even now—he wouldn't know how to explain how this happened. He wouldn't be able to say who made the first move because it didn't matter, even after two years of not seeing each other, they were still Jisung and Minho, in sync and all too aware of each other's needs and wants, even without either of them vocalising anything.

“Minho,” is all Jisung has to say, his voice low and breathy as he pushes against the older. “Hyung.”

Minho is done with Jisung's neck, no doubt having left a very telling mark, just as he'd clearly intended. The truth is this was the kind of thing they used to do on purpose when they were hormonal teens, whose soul marks had yet to reveal themselves. Minho had started doing it first, but Jisung immediately understood that it was his way of showing that they were each other’s – that they _matched._

His mouth easily finds Jisung's again, swallowing all his moans and whimpers, and honestly, Jisung wishes he can say that Minho hasn't changed, that he kisses like he used to – except he’s really only gotten better. It stings a little, if he's to be honest, because that implies Minho has gotten practice _without_ him, but he also can't complain because he’s the one now benefiting from whatever upgrade in skill Minho has gotten over the time that they hadn’t seen each other.

“Hyung,” he repeats— _moans,_ rather, out of breath and sounding incredibly needy. Minho’s hands are pushing his shirt up, and his fingers feel warm _—hot_ on Jisung’s skin, and he wants more.

He wants as much of Minho as he can, so his own hands start to move, and he fumbles clumsily with the buttons of the older’s shirt. This all feels familiar between the two of them, both of them always eager for more of one another, with no one consistently leading. It’s always a balanced push and pull between the two of them, and that’s why it felt right back then, and why it still feels right _now._

“Is this okay?” Minho whispers, because somehow his touch has left Jisung’s torso, and his fingers have now managed to unbuckle Jisung’s belt, and unbutton Jisung’s slacks. He’s looking down directly at Jisung, eyes filled with sincere and cautious concern as his hand hovers just below Jisung’s belly button, fingertips sending tiny jolts of electricity throughout Jisung’s body with the way they barely slide past his loose waistband.

At that moment Jisung wonders, _is_ it okay? They haven’t been together like this in years, and maybe they should never have been together like this to begin with. But Minho feels good, feels comfortable—feels _like home,_ and this is exactly what Jisung needs right now.

“Yes,” Jisung answers, his voice almost gruff with his impatience; he circles his fingers around Minho’s wrist, pushing his hand down and directing it towards where he needs it to be. “Stop asking, hyung—you know—” His breath hitches, partly in anticipation, and partly because he’s feeling way too many things all at once. “You know I want you.”

Minho knows it, of course – he always has, but his eyes widen at the admittance, anyway. A smile tugs at the corner of Jisung's lips because he expected that, and that’s exactly why he said it.

So when Minho swoops back down for another kiss, messy and eager, hand finally grabbing hold of his rapidly growing erection, Jisung is ready for all of it.

He grabs Minho’s face, holding onto him as if for dear life as he immediately moans into his mouth, and his hips automatically buck towards the older’s touch. Minho doesn’t even bother teasing him – he starts pumping Jisung quick and hard, like he knows this is how Jisung wants it right now, because of course he does. When it's just the two of them, Minho always knows what he wants.

It was just like this, the first time they had fooled around past chaste kisses – clumsy, and messy, and eager but uncertain. Except that first time, it was a hot summer evening, and they had holed themselves up in Minho’s bedroom under the pretense of a simple sleepover. They were supposed to be watching a movie – as far as Minho’s parents were concerned, they _were_ watching a movie because they had made sure to put on one of the _Slam Dunk_ OAVs at full volume.

But they’d seen that movie a few too many times already, and they were much more curious about each other. Jisung had embarrassingly climaxed within a few minutes of Minho touching his dick, and—

_Fuck._

The tightness at the pit of his stomach uncoils all at once, sending an indescribable tingle up his spine, right before waves of pleasure wrack his entire being.

He’s nine years older now, but it just happened again.

“‘Sung—?” He hears Minho call to him, soft, gentle, but also somewhat distant.

He wants to laugh like he did when he was sixteen (almost seventeen); he wants to laugh to distract from his own embarrassment, and he wants to turn the tables back on Minho, exactly like he did back then, so he moves his hand to reach for the older – or at least he tries to, but he finds that he can’t because as good as the release felt, as nice and electric Minho has just made him feel, he realises that he also feels exhausted.

Like the weight of everything he’s been carrying recently has been lifted off his shoulders, and now he’s just spent.

“Jisungie,” Minho says his name again, and it’s only when Minho leans in to kiss his tears away that he realises he’s started to cry.

“Hyung,” he whispers, and it’s when he hears the sound of his own weakened voice that he breaks down completely, tears falling uncontrollably down his cheeks as he wraps his arms tightly around Minho, who doesn't really respond verbally.

Instead, the older returns the hold, pulling Jisung as close to him as he can, never mind the resulting awkwardness of their positions in the cramped backseat of his car.

Minho doesn’t say anything, but Jisung doesn't really expect him to; the way the older allows him to fold in his arms, his entire body shaking as he lets out quiet sobs – it’s more than enough for now.

  
  


~

  
  


Minho wakes up two minutes before his alarm is set to ring at nine in the morning. He promptly turns it off before it has a chance to sound off loudly, and then he turns on his side so he can stare at the person sleeping next to him.

Jiusng looks so tired even in his unconscious state; tired yet peaceful, and strangely almost… _happy._ If Minho wasn't aware of the fact that Jisung and the rest of his family didn’t just bury his mother the day before, he wouldn’t think any such painful event occurred recently for the younger man.

Unable to help himself, he reaches forward, knuckles lightly brushing against the faint beauty mark on Jisung’s cheek. He chuckles breathlessly, remembering how much Jisung used to hate having it there, at least until Minho told him he found it adorable.

He sighs, remembering how they’d driven in silence the night before – how Minho had initially parked in front of Jisung’s family home to drop him off, only for the younger man to shake his head. No words were needed for Minho to know that meant Jisung would rather go home with him, so he’d snuck Jisung in, much like what they used to do when they were fifteen and seventeen, respectively, on school nights when their parents wouldn’t let them have sleepovers.

Except this time, instead of joking around in hushed whispers until the two of them fell asleep, Jisung had wordlessly curled up in Minho’s arms, silent tears free-flowing down his cheeks until there were none left and all that remained for him to do was pass out of physical and emotional exhaustion.

This is why Minho thinks it would be most pertinent to let him continue to get rest, even though at the back of his mind he’s wondering if someone – namely his older brother, or, just as likely, Seoyeon – is looking for him.

He tries to be as careful as he can as he slides out of bed; he assumes his mother had prepared breakfast – she always cooks up a feast whenever Minho stays over, saying that it's to entice him to come visit more often. He isn't fully out of bed yet when his phone starts vibrating loudly and he mentally curses himself for not putting it on silent mode the night before.

“Hello?” He hisses into the phone after he quickly picks up the call. He had managed a quick glance at the screen before his thumb had swiped along the green accept call button so he knows who it is. “Hyunjinnie? Why are you calling so early?” He quickly shuffles out of his room, careful as he opens the door so he can step out into the hallway, and even more so as he closes it behind him.

“Hyung!” His roommate’s voice thunders over the phone line, a little too bright and perky for this early in the day if you ask Minho, but he’s also pretty used to Hyunjin and his ways by now. “You’ll be here after lunchtime, right—? I wanted to remind you that we’re out of rabbit food for Ppiri, so maybe you can drop by the pet store on your way home?”

When the two of them had agreed to room together almost three years ago now, Hyunjin had expressed an instant desire to adopt a puppy, and while Minho was somewhat amenable, he’s also always been more of a cat person. They had tried playing rock paper scissors for it, but in the end, seven months after they were unable to settle the pet situation, a school friend of Hyunjin’s had a rabbit who gave birth to a litter of bunny kittens and they had ended up with one of them. Seungmin, who was over at their apartment more often than not, had ended up naming the rabbit—Wonpil, after a university senior he apparently admired, and eventually the name had devolved into a more cutesy moniker that Minho and Hyunjin both agreed rolled off the tongue more easily.

“Oh. Rabbit food. Right,” Minho answers robotically, even though mentally he’s cursing at himself because _shit,_ he’s forgotten that he’d told Hyunjin he was going to be back as soon as he can, and that he isn’t going to stay at his parents’ longer than necessary, not even if his mother bribes him with delicious homemade meals. The complete opposite of what he’d told Jisung— _oops._

“You okay, hyung?” Hyunjin asks, no doubt sensing the clear uncertainty in Minho’s voice.

“Uh—” He chuckles while running his fingers through his messy morning hair; he’s lucky that Hyunjin can’t see because this is something of a nervous tell for him. “So about that—I might have made a commitment to stay throughout the weekend?”

There’s a pause—brief, pregnant silence over the line, before Hyunjin lets out a dramatic groan. “What about tomorrow night, hyung?”

 _Crap,_ Minho thinks, because at that moment he realises he’s a shitty friend and roommate who almost forgot about Hyunjin’s dance showcase.

“Can you give Seungmin my ticket instead?” He suggests, despite the guilt that’s brewing in his stomach.

“Seungminnie already has a ticket, hyung,” Hyunjin points out, because _of course_ Seungmin already has a ticket. Minho should have assumed this from the get go. “Of course I got tickets for you, him and Changbin-hyung.”

Minho sighs quietly because he can practically _hear_ Hyunjin pouting over the line, even though that’s technically impossible. “Okay, I’ll be there tomorrow night,” he promises. “Stop being a drama queen.”

Hyunjin laughs. “Okay—I’ll get food for Ppiri myself I guess. But you have to be there tomorrow night!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Minho agrees. “Look—” He’s about to end the call, but before he can explain that he needs to go and get coffee now, Hyunjin interrupts him.

“It’s Jisung, isn’t it.” Hyunjin words it as a question, but the way he says it makes it sound more like a declarative statement, prompting Minho to let out an anxious breath he hadn’t even realised he was holding. It makes sense that Hyunjin would figure it out, though, since he’s the only one among Minho’s friends who has really been witness to most of his history with Jisung. He was, after all, Jisung’s friend before he was Minho’s.

More accurately, he started out as Jisung’s self-proclaimed nemesis when they were still in junior high school. They way Jisung used to tell it to Minho – used to _complain_ to Minho – Hyunjin was the most popular guy in their year. A prince by thirteen year old standards. Where Jisung frequently sat by his lonesome during lunch, and was always the last to be picked for teams during P.E., Hyunjin was always the center of attention, a guy’s guy and a girl’s dream.

They had butted heads more than once, and Jisung was at least self aware enough to tell Minho that it was because he was a moody prick who was hard pressed to hide his resentment towards Hyunjin. On his part, Minho initially had a hard time believing this – when they were together Jisung always had, at the very least, a hint of a smile on his face.

But then once, after Minho had moved on to high school, and Jisung was still in the third year of middle school, the younger had come to meet him at the park after school with a split lip and a bruised cheek. He had been grumpy, short, and sullen in a way that Minho had never witnessed him act like before.

Naturally, he was worried, but after Jisung brushed off his attempt to examine his face, Minho had proceeded to leave him alone, ignoring him in favor of playing with a stray cat – at least until Jisung himself caved and joined him, clicking his tongue at the cat right before he launched into a bitter monologue about the pretty boy in school who always seemed to get his way because of his looks.

“You get your way with me because of your looks,” Minho had deadpanned, and it was mostly a joke only because Jisung really did frequently get what he wanted with Minho, not because of his looks but simply by virtue of being Han Jisung. Not that Minho wanted to come clean about that, so he broke out into a huge grin right after his line delivery – and then Jisung snorted, and laughed, and that was that.

In hindsight, everything about Hyunjin and Jisung’s prepubescent antagonism just seems really petty. A year after that, Jisung and Hyunjin started attending the same high school as Minho, and they’d gotten stuck in the same class. Their adviser had assigned Jisung, who always ranked top ten in class with minimal effort, to tutor Hyunjin in Biology and somehow, as if they were characters straight out of a coming-of-age youth drama, they had emerged from that experience fast friends. Just like that, Jisung somehow _finally_ made his first real friend who wasn’t Minho.

And because Minho and Jisung were once inseparable (even moreso during that one year of being reunited in high school), it wasn’t long before Hyunjin and Minho were just as friendly – and theirs was a friendship that had gradually strengthened over time, after Hyunjin got accepted into Minho’s university, and _especially_ after Jisung had left them both with barely a warning, under the guise of some scholarship grant for a digital arts and animation program at an art school in Japan.

“Jisung is what?” Minho, typical of him, feigns ignorance at what Hyunjin is saying anyway. “Didn’t you see him a couple of days ago, anyway?”

Hyunjin had paid respects and offered his own condolences earlier than Minho did, on the first day of the funeral. “Jisung looks… subdued,” was the sole update he had given Minho after he’d gotten back. He hadn’t known what to make of that, but now that he’s seen Jisung himself, he thinks he gets it.

“Me seeing him is vastly different from you seeing him,” Hyunjin points out, and because he’s right Minho can only grunt in response. “You okay there, hyung?” Hyunjin prods after several seconds pass and Minho remains without a verbal response.

“Yeah,” Minho exhales. “I’m good. Jisung and I—we’re good.”

He ignores the painful ache that wraps tightly around his heart as the fib slides off his tongue with little to no effort.

  
  


~

  
  


Minho wasn’t even gone ten minutes before Jisung had slid out of bed, and made his way out through Minho’s bedroom window. This wasn’t new for him, considering the number of times he had done this in his teens – especially the year he had turned seventeen, when he and Minho were at their peak hormonal stage.

He had then sent Minho a text message, “snuck out so we don’t have to explain.” It was ridiculous, considering they were men in their mid to late twenties, and they shouldn’t have to explain anything to anyone, least of all Minho’s parents who have always felt like a second family to Jisung. He figured it was easier this way, though.

His brother didn’t bat an eyelash at him when he entered through the kitchen door that morning—just reminded him to make sure to refill the coffee pot if he was going to have any.

Seoyeon, meanwhile, had just looked up at him as soon as he entered his childhood bedroom where she was in the middle of packing her suitcase. The way she had looked at him, with utmost scrutiny mixed with a dash of understanding—had it been almost anyone else, he probably would have felt sick to his stomach. But Seoyeon was his Fated, his destiny-assigned Soulmate, and despite the very many complexities of what they _truly_ are to each other, the matching soul marks on their necks are something neither of them can deny, and with that came a guttural kinship that offered instant comfort.

“Are you alright?” Seoyeon asks as she sits on her suitcase; as usual she’d packed haphazardly and inefficiently and Jisung has to stifle a chuckle as he automatically moves towards her to help her zip and lock her luggage.

“As alright as can be,” he says, shrugging as he collapses to sit on the floor, cross legged across Seoyeon, who purses her lips and narrows her eyes at him, clearly reading him carefully before she smiles and playfully bops his nose.

When Jisung was growing up, he had been obsessed with the concept of soulmates. His own parents were Fated, with matching curlicues printed just above the inside of their right elbows. For as long as Jisung can remember, he was witness to his parents’ magical and destined love – all consuming, yet steady in the way it provided both of them with necessary light and warmth.

Jisung was never really good with people – at school he was always either a little too loud, or a little too sullen and his classmates never knew how to deal with him. “Your son is a bit of a wild card,” he remembers hearing his third grade teacher explain to his mother once. “The other kids don’t know how to act around him.” He wasn’t sure exactly what that meant, but it had stung deep. At first it helped that he was very smart and talented—he used his grades, because he always managed top marks with minimal effort, to make himself feel better and build his own confidence. The problem was that this only served to alienate himself more, so instead, he retreated into the world of fiction, watching movies and reading books to keep himself preoccupied, and whenever he felt any type of loneliness he’d think about his parents. He would remind himself that his Fated Other Half is out there, and that one way or another they would find each other because that is how the universe is generally designed.

“Had fun last night?” Seoyeon’s tone switches to a teasing one, and Jisung is confused at first. And then, with a smirk, she reaches over to poke Jisung’s neck, and Jisung remembers, as he instinctively moves his hand up to cover it, the mark that Minho had placed there last night.

_Shit._

“I—” There’s no use lying to Seoyeon, and all the guilt he had been keeping at bay right from the moment he kissed Minho last night (or was it Minho who kissed him? He can’t be sure) comes rushing in.

“‘Sung, stop looking like you’re about to pee in your pants,” Seoyeon berates him with a chuckle. “I told you already—I don’t care who you fuck. I don’t care who you date, or fall in love with.” She smiles, teasing but fond, and she reaches over to squeeze his knee. “We are what we are, and even though we've decided it's fruitless to pursue anything romantic—” At this she makes a show of visibly cringing before laughing, and continuing, “—that's never going to change. We kinda have no choice on the matter.”

Jisung laughs along; Seoyeon is right, and he appreciates her for so many things, not least of all this constant understanding that they have. And yet, despite what she's telling him, Jisung feels guilty.

For one, as far as _he_ knows, Minho has Seungmin. His relationship with Seoyeon might be purely platonic, but he isn’t the only one who has met his Fated, and deep in his gut he knows last night was completely unfair for Seungmin, which makes him feel awful.

But even more than that, even taking out the unknown variable of the nature of Minho’s relationship with his Soulmate, Jisung feels guilty because he wants to keep Minho to himself. He wants to keep the memories of the previous night, and he wants to not have to explain any of it to Seoyeon. Frankly, she _does_ know who Minho was to Jisung, and she always has. But Jisung has always talked about Minho with her as if he was from the past, as if that's where Jisung intends for him to stay.

To be fair, as far as intent goes, it wasn't a complete lie. Jisung was the one who left, after all, and Jisung was the one who had planned to stay away. It’s true what people say about best laid plans and how they're for naught – all it took was for him to be ten feet away from Minho again, and Jisung was once again a goner.

So now the problem is, Minho is once more a part of his system, filling in all the tiny nooks and cracks with his essence, making Jisung feel a little less incomplete just like he always has.

It’s a problem because that's what Seoyeon, as his Fated, is meant to do for him and he doesn't know how to explain any of this to her.

Jisung's older brother's birthday isn't until the end of the year, and his soul mark, printed under his left ear was slow to darken, taking almost twelve months to transform from a faint, blemish-like blob to the deep, burnt looking G-clef that it is today. Jisung was 14 when this happened, and according to his personal research, marks that take extra slowly to fully form—marks that take until one's birthday to really show—indicated a later in life meeting with one's Fated. (Sure enough, Younghyun is now in his early 30’s and still Mateless; there are brief pockets in time, usually when Minho crosses his mind, that Jisung feels a tinge of jealousy over his brother. Funny how life works sometimes.)

His brother had always been unfazed by the slow burn of his mark; Jisung, on the other hand, was frustrated on his behalf. He had met Minho at the park later that night, past their bedtimes. He had snuck out with leftover birthday cake, pretending that it was for Minho even though he knew full well that the older would maybe have one bite before letting him finish the rest of it.

Minho wasn’t even done swallowing his one bite when Jisung just blurted out,

“Do you ever think about the day when you meet your Fated?”

Minho blinked at him, rapidly—almost comically, but Jisung was quite earnest in his inquiry, so Minho took a pause, and swallowed properly before humming in thought.

“I used to,” the older boy admitted. “That's normal for most people isn't it? I don't think about it too much, though.”

Jisung exhaled audibly. “I think about it a lot.”

“Oh? Can't wait to get your soulmark and begin your quest in looking for your soulmate?” There was teasing in Minho's tone, but truthfully, he had been a hundred percent correct.

“I—I mean—” Jisung stammered, flustered for reasons he could not fathom at the time. “Yes?”

Minho laughed, and reached over to ruffle his hair, and Jisung had visibly relaxed because at that point, Minho’s touch already had such an effect on him.

“Why?” The older boy had then asked, and Jisung was caught off-guard.

“W-why?” He croaked, and for the first time in years he had pondered the question. Why _was_ he so eager to meet his Fated?

“Yeah, why?” Minho prodded. “It's a nice idea that we'll eventually find the person who fits us so well, that we'll want to be with them for the rest of our life—” He laughed softly. “But personally, it also feels so absolute, you know? I can wait. For now I want to enjoy my youth and my choices.”

Jisung huffed, petty annoyance bubbling in him. “Easy for you to say,” he whined.

“How do you mean?” Minho seemed genuine, and not mocking so Jisung took a deep breath so he could gather enough wits to explain.

“Everybody loves you, hyung. It's easy not to feel lonely when everybody wants to be your friend,” he pointed out petulantly.

He was initially met with silence, and when he looked up to meet Minho's gaze, he was faced with hurt and uncertainty that had him reeling.

“You feel lonely, 'Sung?” Minho asked softly.

“I—”

It was even more of a surprise to Jisung when he hesitated to answer. It was the first time he'd had to inspect his own feelings like that and it hit him that for the last year or so, he hadn’t really been feeling any of that crippling loneliness that had persistently haunted him as a child.

“Not when I’m around you,” he found himself admitting because Jisung has always had trouble keeping his personal truths at bay.

Happiness and relief had washed across Minho’s expression, which in turn prompted a wide grin to spread along Jisung's own face. He doesn't know what it was about Minho, but as he inspected his own feelings at that moment, he realised that Minho, right from the first moment they met had been making him feel safe, content— _at home._ All buzzwords he had frequently read from years of looking up soulmates and soulmarks and what Fated people feel when they find each other.

“I do wonder what mine will be,” Minho volunteered, without verbally returning Jisung’s admittance. He surprisingly had not minded, because the smile Minho wore was more than enough to assure Jisung thay the older boy felt the same. “My soul mark, I mean,” Minho clarified, as he stole another bite of cake.

Jisung grinned, and took an even bigger piece of cake for himself. “I wonder, too,” he agreed.

 _I bet yours will be the same as mine,_ he found himself thinking at the time, his grin growing even wider for it.

It breaks him now because he really shouldn't have put so much faith in that notion.

“Earth to Han Jisung,” Seoyeon drawls, shaking his shoulder and pulling him completely out of his nostalgic reverie. “You went somewhere there for a second. Or two. Or sixty,” she jokes, laughing. “You sure you're okay, 'Sung?”

“Yes!” He near yells, cranking up his volume to assure himself more than anyone else.

Seoyeon flinches in surprise, and then she gives him a scathing glare—she tries to, anyway, before she ends up laughing

“Yah!” She shouts back. “You're noisy!”

“So are you!” Jisung returns, and with a yelp, Seoyeon moves to put him in a headlock. Jisung whimpers – she's a tiny one, but she knows how to control her strength enough to overpower Jisung at times.

“Mercy!” He cries out, not even bothering to fight back, and Seoyeon just as easily lets go.

“Weak,” She teases him.

“I let you win,” he declares. And then, after a beat, “Are you sure you don't want me to take you to the train station? I can borrow hyung’s car.”

“No, I’m fine, I’ll call for a cab,” Seoyeon assures him with a shake of her head. “Are _you_ sure you don’t want me to stay?”

Images from the night before flash in Jisung’s head, playing like a disorienting movie montage, and it does nothing to help quell Jisung’s unease. “Don’t worry about me,” he tries to assure Seoyeon, but it takes all of his meager self-control not to physically wince. “I just have to finish going through some documents with my brother and my Dad—and then I’ll meet you at your parents, Monday—Tuesday at the latest. I’ll call when I’m sure.”

Seoyeon stares at him, studying him, and Jisung feels his cheeks heat up from the scrutiny because he’s sure that Seoyeon can tell that he’s hiding things from her. He’s ultimately grateful when she doesn’t further prod.

Instead, she scoots over, encroaching into his immediate personal space, and wraps her arms around him in a tight hug. The gesture makes Jisung smile despite the torrential mix of emotions he’s experiencing; it takes him a second, but soon enough relief wins out and he allows himself to relax and feel comforted in his Soulmate’s hold.

He returns the gesture, his own arms going around the tiny female to give her a grateful squeeze.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, burrowing deep into the crook of Seoyeon’s neck; somehow she always smells faintly of watermelons, which he knows is the flavor scent of her preferred body wash. It had a calming effect on him, and he knows the inherent connection that the universe has bestowed upon the two of them plays a big part in that—but it confuses him completely, knowing that Minho has a very similar, and just as powerful—if not, God forbid, more—effect on him.

For now, however, all he can do is try not to think about that as he does his best to ignore the distracting ache in his heart that comes from a constant longing for Minho.

  
  


~

  
  


“Hi.”

When Jisung opens the door just as Minho is about to knock, raised fist and all, this is all he can say, too caught off-guard by the younger’s sudden appearance. He can’t help but wonder if Jisung had realised she was at their doorway—if Jisung had somehow felt that he was there before he could even announce his presence, especially as Jisung just stands there, looking like he’s simply waiting for Minho to say more, and not at all like he’d opened the door with any other purpose.

“Hey,” Jisung greets back.

“Have you eaten yet?” Minho asks, glad that his voice remains steady; he’s hopeful that means the nervous pitter-patter of his heart has not been betrayed.

“Not yet,” Jisung answers, curiosity and confusion battling on his features. Minho can’t blame him. “We’re probably going to just order in,” he adds.

And _that’s_ his cue, Minho thinks as he immediately holds up a paper bag filled with food containers.

“Courtesy of my Mom,” he explains. It isn’t a complete lie only because it’s all his mother’s cooking – she had prepared all of Minho’s favorites just like she always does when he comes home, and like always she had made too much. The idea is to let Minho take most of it back to Seoul, but this time around, Minho had reasoned that the Han family next door probably needed it more. What he doesn’t explain to his mother, however, is that he mostly wanted an excuse to go and see Jisung – it felt silly, considering how the Hans’ place functioned almost like a second home to Minho during his teenage years.

“Oh, thanks!” Jisung grins at him as he takes the paper bag. Minho easily notices the tired sadness in his eyes, yet despite that, he also recognises the genuine gratefulness mixed in there. It renders Jisung’s expression sweet, and just like it always had, Jisung’s smile easily puts one on Minho’s face as well.

“They’re for your Dad and your brother,” Minho finds himself explaining. “And Seoyeon,” he adds after a beat, and _Christ,_ he thinks because he really isn’t as slick as he wishes he could be.

“None for me?” Jisung asks, arching an eyebrow as he meets Minho’s gaze, clearly expecting some kind of sassy or teasing follow-up from him. Understandable, because under normal circumstances, Minho probably would have had some kind of barb ready and waiting.

But the circumstances aren’t really normal, so he blurts out instead, his tone a little too earnest, “No—go out and have dinner with me instead.”

This wasn’t really a planned invitation, but it’s out there now, and Minho feels sick with nerves as he waits for Jisung’s answer. It’s strange how both anxious and calm Jisung makes him feel sometimes, but he’s long ago learned to stop questioning the way only Han Jisung is able to make him experience a whole plethora of feelings all at once.

Jisung laughs, probably immediately aware of the spontaneity of the invite, and Minho can’t help but think of how much he’s missed that sound so much.

“You can eat with us,” Jisung offers as he peers into the paper bag, pulling out one of the food containers and squinting at it as he tries to identify what it is. “These all look like they’re _your_ favorite dishes anyway, hyung,” he observes as he repeats the action with two more food containers.

“I can,” Minho agrees, but he takes one step away from the door instead of towards it. “Or you can go with me, and I can have you all to myself.” Absurd confidence – yet another thing he feels tenfold when he’s around Jisung.

Jisung laughs again, but this time he pushes the door open wider, clearly doubling down on his offer instead of acquiescing to Minho’s. “Hyung’s friends took him out for a breather, and Seoyeon already left for Seoul earlier today,” he reveals. Minho feels slightly better about his bold invitation knowing that Seoyeon had already left, but he's well aware that he's still a complete tool for selfishly wanting some of Jisung's time while assuming that Jisung's Fated is still around. He figured he was already an asshole for the night before though, so he might as well go all out with his conceit.

“Come inside and have dinner with me and Dad—and then we can take a walk after,” Jisung says.

Minho considers the offer; he can’t help but wonder if Jisung is maybe being cautious about being alone with him now, nervous after they got so easily carried away the night before. He doesn’t really know what he expects to happen if he gets Jisung to himself – he just knows that he craves Jisung’s presence. They’re going to say goodbye again the next day anyway, so he might as well take what he can. (It’s a fucked up notion, he knows, but he can’t help himself.)

Jisung is looking at him, waiting for an answer, and with a nod, Minho acquiesces that Jisung’s offer is as good a compromise as can be.

After they close the door behind him, Jisung calls to his Dad, his voice loud and clear as it rings out through the entire house. Minho has to bite the inside of his cheek, trying not to smile too as he recalls how Jisung’s mother was always needing to tell her youngest off for always expressing himself in megaphone levels of loudness.

That was just how he is – when he’s quiet, he’s really quiet, but when Han Jisung gets loud? He’s always the loudest in the room, no matter who he’s with. Minho used to tease him for it, telling him that he truly was an overachiever in most things, including decibel levels.

“Good evening, Mr. Han,” Minho greets Jisung’s Dad when he appears in the dining area just as Minho and Jisung finish setting a table for three. “My mother didn’t want you to starve so she sent over some food.”

Jisung’s father looks somewhat better compared to when Minho last saw him the day before. Granted, there’s still barely any light in his eyes, but it isn’t as if Minho had expected otherwise. The way Jisung used to talk about his parents, he always made it apparent that they were the centers of each other’s lives. Having lived right next door to them for a good amount of his formative years, Minho can easily attest to the truth in that.

“Thanks for dropping by, son,” Mr. Han tells Minho as he takes the seat at the head of the table. “How are you doing these days? Your father tells me that you don’t drop by as often as your mother would like.”

Jisung laughs before Minho can answer. “I bet ‘Ma said that about me too,” he muses.

His father looks at him sharply, but after a mere split second his expression softens. “Well that’s why she called you every day,” he points out. “She did that with your brother too, last year, when his company sent him to Japan for six months.”

Minho smiles. “I try to call home as much as I can,” he explains, “but work has been especially busy recently.”

“Right—your father also tells me that you got a new job a while back?” Mr. Han continues to prod even as they all start to dig into the food.

Minho nods, and from the corner of his eye, he notices Jisung perk up.

“You did?” Jisung asks, brow furrowed as if surprised that he missed such an update about Minho’s life.

“Several months ago,” he explains. “I moved to a private PT clinic—pay’s better than when I was still working at a hospital. The hours are better, too. We work with a lot of dancers, so that’s… something.”

“Ah, right—you used to dance, didn’t you?”

“He was the captain of the school’s dance team,” Jisung interjects, pride in his tone; and then he freezes as if surprised at himself, and he looks down, going back to stabbing meat with his chopsticks.

“I did,” Minho nods. “In high school, and the first few years of college.” For a very brief window of time during high school, he had allowed himself to dream of becoming a professional dancer, but after he had an unfortunate accident with his knee in his third year of high school, he’d entered university with dancing relegated to mere hobby status, and his future goals completely retooled.

The rest of dinner is spent with Minho mostly just talking about his work. He tells Jisung and his father about the professional dancers who are a part of the clinic’s clientele, and he advises Mr. Han on what he can do about the stiff neck he’s been regularly waking up with recently. He talks about his favorite patient, an old woman with whom he has scheduled home visits twice a week, and who requested his services after he had helped her young, idol trainee grandson heal completely from a near disastrous knee injury. He talks, and talks, and talks – and normally, Minho would love to shine the spotlight back on Jisung and his father, but as it is, they seem to be quite grateful to just listen about someone else’s life for now. He supposes that’s understandable, considering the recent tragedy their family has gone through, so Minho gladly performs.

“You know, that's the most I've heard him converse with anyone this last week?” Jisung shares with him some time later, after they’re finished with dinner and Mr. Han has left the two of them to clean up in the kitchen by themselves. “The entire funeral, he would mostly just nod wordlessly whenever people approached him and offered their condolences—and even with me and Younghyun-hyung—I could tell he’s been trying, especially with me here, but he always just looks so… sad? Pained? So we just try and let him be. But you—” Jisung chuckles softly as he brings a stack of bowls over to the sink, where Minho is waiting. “It was nice seeing him be more like his usual self, hyung. Geez—” He smiles and nudges Minho’s hip with his own. “You really do have a way with people, hyung.”

Minho glances at him as he rolls his sleeves up to his elbows; he isn’t sure how to answer Jisung’s words because he doesn’t particularly feel that getting along with people is any kind of special talent, but he knows better than anyone how much Jisung used to struggle in that area, so he just smiles.

And then, when Jisung opens the tap, Minho is overcome with a sudden urge to splash water at the younger male, so he does just that, palm slapping the water stream to launch it towards Jisung, laughing playfully as he does so.

“Hyung!” Jisung screeches when the water hits him square on the face, and then he tries to retaliate by doing the same – except Minho is quick and he manages to quickly flip the water nozzle off. Jisung does the only thing he can think off to get back at him by shaking his head, his wet hair spraying water droplets at Minho’s general direction.

“Stop—” Minho chortles, quickly reaching over to hold Jisung’s face to get him to still. “Stop,” he repeats, so Jisung does, only to look up, and meet his gaze directly. _“Stop,”_ he says yet again, except this time, the word leaves his mouth in a whispered tone as he’s struck with an eerie sense of déjà vu.

This is exactly how the moments leading up to their first kiss had unfolded.

From the way Jisung’s eyes widen, and the way he suddenly purses his lips, Minho can tell that he’s recalling the same thing. Ten years ago, in this very same kitchen, it had been Jisung who made the first move. Minho had been laughing, too amused by the drowned rat appearance of his best friend, and Jisung had huffed and whined in annoyance; when Minho wouldn’t stop grinning, Jisung had grabbed him by the neck, leaning in and invading his personal space in a matter of mere seconds—and then his lips were on Minho’s, hard and forceful at first, at least until Minho had reached around his waist, hand settling against the small of his back to steady Jisung as he attempted to return the kiss.

Jisung had automatically relaxed, and just like that, their lips had slotted perfectly together. Following days after that, Minho would sometimes wonder if he should have been more surprised, because he wasn’t at all. It would have been a lie to say that he saw the kiss coming, because he absolutely didn’t, but the moment Jisung’s lips touched his, it simply made sense.

When they had pulled apart, Jisung had broken out into a huge grin – and then he’d laughed as he excitedly raised a closed fist in the air as if he’d won some kind of ultimate prize. Minho could only laugh, endeared. He was only 17 then, and he had no idea what being in love was supposed to feel like, but in that moment he had been so sure – he was in love with his best friend. Not even _falling_ in love, because he was already there, at the bottom.

This time, he’s the one who reaches for Jisung, hand cupping one of his full cheeks. And then he moves forward, slowly and very cautiously, giving the younger more than enough time to turn away before their lips finally meet.

It isn’t the inexperienced, awkward pressing of lips like it was ten years ago, nor is it the frantic open-mouthed kiss from just last night when Jisung was clearly just desperate for some form of comfort from him.

This time, it starts very gently, Minho’s lips moving against Jisung’s own in an almost lazy manner; he bides his time, allowing Jisung to return the kiss in a pace he sees fit. When their mouths part, they do it at the same time, tongues curling around each other; the kiss escalates slowly but surely and steadily, and by the time they pull apart minutes later it’s because they’re both in desperate need of air.

Jisung whimpers, head resting against Minho’s shoulder, while Minho moves a hand to rest it against the back of Minho’s head. It’s scary, he realises, how easy it is for the two of them to gravitate towards each other like this, despite knowing full well that both of them have long connected with their destiny-picked partners.

Minho wonders if that means there’s something wrong with them—with _him,_ especially, because ten years later, and the one thing he’s sure of—the one thing that kiss just now confirmed—is that despite the four tiny stars drawn on the inside of his left wrist that perfectly matches the mark etched on the inside wrist of someone who isn't Han Jisung, he’s as in love with Han Jisung now, as he was ten years ago.

  
  


~

  
  


True story: Han Jisung is the one who introduced Lee Minho to his Soulmate.

It happened at the beginning of the fall term of his second year of university. He and Minho were in a pretty good place at the time – they went to separate universities, but their schools were a mere half an hour’s worth of commute away from each other, give or take, depending on how heavy the traffic is. More than that, they lived together, because funny enough, a little over a year earlier, after Jisung had (finally) graduated high school, a bed at the boarding house Minho resided at, had opened up right during the week that Jisung had set aside to look for Seoul accommodations.

“The universe truly loves us,” Jisung had joked. “A true sign that fate is on our side.”

And then midway through his second year of university, he found himself in the same Korean History study group with one Kim Seungmin.

They had been sitting together at the library one afternoon – they were still waiting for the last member of their group, a freshman named Jeongin, but Seungmin had already taken it upon himself to start divvying up reading and discussion chapters.

As he diligently marked pages with post-it tabs, Seungmin’s sweater sleeve had rode up and Jisung caught a glimpse of the inside of his wrist. Immediately, he had been able to identify the design drawn on Seungmin’s skin, deep red in color and all too familiar to Jisung – it was the exact mark that he had been patiently waiting for, regularly checking the inside of his own wrist on a daily basis for the last couple of months.

“How the—'' Without thinking, Jisung had reached over and grabbed Seungmin’s wrist, pulling it closer to him so he could take a better look.

“Huh?” Seungmin, unsurprisingly, was quite miffed at the suddenness of Jisung’s action and had immediately shaken off his hold.

“That’s—” Jisung’s breath hitched; suddenly his heart was racing and he didn’t know how to calm it down. Somehow, distracted by the comfort and happiness just being with Minho brought him over the last few years, it had slipped his mind to even consider that someone else might end up being tattooed with Minho’s identical soul mark.

Not even the faint, faded spiral that was beginning to appear on his neck had alerted him to the possible reality that Minho was not his Fated. (In retrospect, Jisung easily identifies his persistent denial, but most things are easily identifiable in retrospect – life has a way of making you feel stupid like that, Jisung has since then learned.)

Seungmin had given him a strange look, and he’d twiddled with the cuff of his sleeve, pulling it down so he could cover the red stars. “Do you always get this weird when you see other people’s soul marks?” He huffed.

“Ah.” Jisung blinked; he couldn’t focus enough to articulate himself, the thunderous pounding of his heart against his rib cage way too distracting.

Seungmin’s scathing expression softened, and instead morphed into a display of concern. “You okay there—? You look kinda pale.”

Jisung unconsciously placed his hand over his heart, and lightly massaged his chest, inhaling deeply to try and gather his own wits.

“I—” He stammered, and he had to take yet another deep breath to further calm himself, before he spat out in a single exhalation anyway, “I know who your Soulmate is.”

If the circumstances had been different, he would have probably enjoyed the way Seungmin’s eyes had widened, and his jaw had dropped – it was quite the funny sight, and again, if things had been different, Jisung would have laughed then and there.

As it was, things hadn’t been different and Jisung’s world, as he knew it, had just turned upside down.

When he was younger—before Minho, when he still used to spend most of his free time reading up about Soulmates, and Fated and Destiny—he used to read about an ever present ache that Marked Adults experience before they unite with their Fated. The Study of Soulmates was not an exact science, and so journal articles and online thought pieces had widely varied in their descriptions of this so-called ache—some defined it as a sharpness in their chest, like hundred of prickly little needles piercing their heart all at once, and others described it as a dull ache in their gut, like phantom walls collapsing into nothingness.

The one thing all the descriptions had in common, however, was they way they deemed the pain to be chronic – always there to the point where you just get so used to it, until one day it just disappears, and you find yourself finally connected to the one person that the universe has deemed as the one made just for you.

Even now, Jisung would dare say – he doubts any kind of ache or pain or hurt could ever compare to the kind of heart-wrenching agony he had felt that day, as he promised to arrange a meeting between Seungmin and Minho.

  
  
  
  


…

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ ☆ ] the second and last chapter should be up before the weekend is over, but in the meantime, feedback is greatly appreciated, please and thank you!


	2. : after

“Good morning hyung!” Hyunjin’s voice is way too loud when he barges into Minho’s room at 8 in the morning, mug filled with piping hot coffee gently held with both of his hands.

“Nothing is good about you waking me up this early in the day,” Minho grumbles as he buries his head under his pillow, trying to drown out Hyunjin’s early morning perkiness. “Go back to your own room and catch some more shut-eye,” he barks tiredly. Usually, he’s the morning person between the two of them, but he’d gotten home late the previous night after he had allowed himself to be dragged out to a night of drinking with some of his work friends. He wasn’t hungover because he knows how to pace his own drinking well enough, but still, he feels exhausted. “It’s  _ Saturday, _ for fucks sake.”

He fully expects to hear the muffled sounds of Hyunjin’s footsteps grow fainter as he walks away, but instead he hears them get closer. There’s a pause, and then the side of his bed is dipping, presumably because Hyunjin has sat down on it.

“Why—?” Minho groans and pulls his head out of his pillow so he can take a look at his roommate who, just as he predicted, is now sitting cross-legged on the side of his bed, with his coffee offering now sat atop Minho’s bedside table.

“I’m here for some much needed roommate talk time,” Hyunjin chirps; he playfully swats at Minho’s thigh, before lightly shaking the older. “Hyung, come on, talk to me.”

“Now—?” Minho grunts. “This can’t wait?!”

Hyunjin sighs, and then he makes himself comfortable on Minho’s small twin bed, scooting up so he can rest his back against the headboard.

“Come on, hyung,” he implores, this time using a much more subdued, and almost  _ sad _ tone; Minho hates that Hyunjin knows exactly what tricks to use to wear him down. “We’ve been putting this conversation off for a week.”

Minho groans, but after lightly hitting Hyunjin with his pillow, he finally deigns to move and pull himself up to a sitting position.

“Hand me the coffee,” he croaks as he runs both sets of fingers through his messy hair.

Hyunjin, with a smile. Readily hands the cup to him.  _ “So,” _ he says; a single word, but there’s a certain lilt in his tone that implies some kind of accusation.

“So?” Minho echoes, playing dumb as he focuses on getting much needed caffeine into his early morning system. He knows what Hyunjin is trying to get out of him though, of course.

It has been a week since he got back to Seoul after his brief hometown visit. In the time that has passed since, he’s caught Hyunjin giving him many curious and almost pitiful looks, but he hasn’t really directly come up to Minho to ask what happened – at least until now. To be fair, Minho should probably commend him for that—Hyunjin isn’t usually the most patient or discreet person, so he knows it must have taken his roommate an inordinate amount of self-control to hold back.

“So,” Hyunjin repeats. “How was the reunion with Jisung?”

There it is finally, direct and forward, and the sudden bluntness almost makes Minho choke on his warm drink.

“Well.” He gathers himself expertly. “Like you said—he’s a lot more subdued.”

“Did you spend time together?” Hyunjin asks. “I assume you were with him for most of the weekend, and that’s why you spent the extra two days at home.”

“Excuse you, I’m pretty sure you’ve been feasting on all the food my mom made me bring back all this week—isn’t that enough reason to have stayed back a couple of days? Also—my cats. I missed my cats. Dori acts like she doesn’t even know me anymore.”

Hyunjin rolls his eyes. “Except you explicitly told me that you were only going to stay one night—and you ended up late to my showcase, hyung! You almost missed my number!” 

Minho is well aware that Hyunjin is expertly guilting him to pull more information out of him; the slight downward pout his mouth is curved in is certainly more than enough proof of that. He usually never falls for any such antics by Hyunjin, but it’s too early in the day and he’s too tired to resist, and as a result, Hyunjin’s emotional machinations are somewhat working. He supposes this is also why Hyunjin had deliberately barged into his room this early on a Saturday morning. It never would have worked on a weekday, since he’d be much more alert, and much more in a hurry to get to work.

“I got there in time for your team, didn’t I?” Minho points out. “Besides, you still would’ve had the unerring support of your two loving boyfriends anyway.”

A faint blush actually creeps across Hyunjin’s cheeks, which has Minho smirking, just a tad smug. He refuses to lay down and surrender the details of his emotional turmoil without a fight.

“Hmph, well, speaking of my boyfriends—I know something happened back home, hyung, and I know this because one of them told me.  _ Seungmin _ told me—and you can’t deny the kind of sixth sense Seungmin has when it comes to you.”

Minho huffs, because of course he can’t.

Petulant, he tries to recall why he said yes in the first place, when, almost a year ago, Hyunjin, and Hyunjin’s Fated, Changbin, had come up to him and very sincerely asked if he would be alright with them pursuing a deeper connection with  _ his  _ Fated.

And then he sighs, because he knows why he said yes, and the reason hasn’t changed a bit until now. Even though he likes to joke around that he let Hyunjin and Changbin ‘have’ Seungmin because the two of them being Fated is a joke that the universe planted on Earth considering they can barely stand each other (or so Seungmin says), the truth is that he cares very deeply about Seungmin—and he cares very deeply about Hyunjin, and by extension, he cares very deeply Changbin. The three of them are his best friends (not that he’d admit that out loud, barring gunpoint), and he’s glad that they have somehow managed to cultivate a very healthy three-way relationship. Admittedly, there are times when he feels like an outsider looking in, whenever the four of them hang out, but he accepts that feeling – he accepts it just as he’s accepted the persistent pain he’s been feeling ever since he and Jisung first figured out that the two of them are apparently not Meant To Be. At least seeing Seungmin be genuinely happy and cared for by not one, but two attentive lovers somewhat eases the guilt that stems from knowing that he and Seungmin just can’t be the kind of Soulmates they wax poetic about in the movies and every other great novel, all because of him.

However, Seungmin using their uncanny and inherent connection to give his boyfriend, the one who is Minho’s roommate, enough leverage to pry into Minho’s business? He thinks that just might be at the top of the list of cons this entire arrangement has.

“It was hard seeing him again,” he finally admits after he downs the rest of the contents of his coffee in one go. “But—” he continues, just looking at the bottom of the now empty mug, “—it felt really good, too? It felt right, just being with him—but.  _ But. _ That feeling was also what made everything so hard.”

He doesn’t know if he’s making any sense, and as Hyunjin sits there silently, barely reacting, he thinks he wouldn’t be surprised if the younger did not get a word of what he was trying to explain.

“Do you think he feels the same?” He eventually asks, and it’s Minho’s turn to be quiet as he gets stumped.

He wants to think that Jisung  _ does _ feel the same, because they’ve always been on the same page for most of the time that they’ve known each other. But Jisung feeling the same wouldn’t really change their situation, and Minho doesn’t know what he should feel about  _ that. _

Maybe it would be easier if Jisung didn’t feel the same—if Jisung had truly moved on, like Minho has been trying to convince himself over the last two years. If that was the case, then Minho would have no choice but to do the same.

But when it all comes down to it, deep in his gut—rather, deep in his  _ heart, _ Minho is sure that that answer to Hyunjin’s answer is a painful  _ yes, _ Jisung feels exactly the same about him, as he does for Jisung.

“Maybe,” Minho mutters. “It doesn’t matter anyway.”

“Why not?’

“Because Jisung is the type who is determined to be with his Soulmate,” Minho murmurs, pained and wistful at the thought that the universe wants Jisung with someone else. 

_ How dare you, universe?  _ He thinks bitterly.

He remembers very vividly, this one time when he was 19, just a few months before his soulmark was meant to start appearing. Jisung was still in high school, but Minho had snuck him into campus during one of his Seoul visits to see Minho. He was still dancing then, and as a college freshman and new dance team recruit, Minho was set to choreograph a fifteen second solo to showcase his skills to the seniors. He’d taken Jisung to one of the dancer studios after hours, and he’d shown him the routine that he’d been working on for two weeks already.

“You’re beautiful,” had been Jisung’s immediate reaction after his initial run through of the steps. 

The younger’s eyes had lit up, clearly mesmerized by the entire dance, and Minho just wanted to say the words right back, because he really believed it - that Jisung was beautiful, both inside and out. Instead, what came out of his mouth was, “I know.”

Jisung laughed, and leaned in to steal a kiss, only for his lips to land on the corner of Minho’s lips instead as the older playfully leaned to the side. “Tch,” he’d scoffed, before placing his hands on the sides of Minho’s neck. He held Minho steady, and for a couple of seconds, the latter assumed that meant he was going to try and kiss him again.

“Be my soulmate forever,” Jisung said instead as he leaned forward, the words a hushed whisper right against the shell of Minho’s ear. They made him shudder, like they were some kind of magic mantra used to cast a spell on him. 

It was strange because both of them were still too young to have their soulmarks, and neither of them had any way of knowing who their Fated were. And yet, Jisung’s words just felt right.  _ Accurate _ to the kind of emotions he always experienced whenever the two of them were together.

“You sappy motherfucker,” he had returned instead. He knew how much the concept of soulmates has always meant to Jisung, and he knew how much the younger has been waiting, for most of his life, to encounter his Fated. That Jisung was basically announcing to him that he thought of Minho as his Soulmate, confident in the universe’s decision to unite them before they were ready—it made him really happy, because deep, deep down inside of him, a similar idea had long started to form. Minho was just hesitant to voice it out loud, afraid that Jisung might not accept such blatant disregard of the mysteries of destiny.

He laughed as he tackled Jisung down on the floor, wasting no time before he claimed Jisung’s mouth with his own, kissing him senseless until they had to pull apart for air, their lips both bruised and puffy and slick with exchanged spit. 

_ I love you, _ he probably should have said right then and there.  _ I’ll be your soulmate no matter if the universe fucks us over one day. _

Jisung was always so open with his feelings for Minho, and that was how Minho always knew they were on the same page. But Minho was never as forthcoming – he had always kept his emotions at bay, scared of expressing them, yet trusting their so-called Fated Connection (tried and tested through years of wear and tear, if not through some kind of Universal Decree) to assure Jisung of his own feelings.

Minho was never able to tell Jisung how he felt, and now it pains him twice as much, knowing that he’s probably missed his chance to truly let the younger one know how he felt—how he  _ feels,  _ to this very day.

“Is he, though?” Hyunjin murmurs, with a comforting pat to his knee. “You aren’t wrong for any of your feelings—and if you love him, and he obviously loves you, then the only real villains in this story are you and your stubbornness, no?” 

Minho scoffed. “Remember when you and Changbin were both being stubborn, refusing to admit that both of you have somehow fallen in love with  _ my _ Soulmate?” He asks, bringing up a distant memory that has no real bearing in anyone’s status now. “Good times.”

Hyunjin snorts. “Yeah well, that’s actually what Changbin-hyung told me when we finally had our talk,” he says. “That we were being the villains in our own story, and that we should just cast our net into the unknown and deal with the aftermath later—look who’s never been happier now?”

Minho sighs heavily. He knows that Hyunjin has a point, but— 

“Jisung is with Seoyeon,” he presses, unable to shake his own obstinance off.

_ Jisung is with Seoyeon, _ he repeats in his head, because despite all the kissing, and touching, and breathing in each other that they did all weekend, Jisung never once implied otherwise, and Minho supposes, that was that.

  
  


~

  
  


“Hey, you're home early—” Seoyeon greets him, looking up from her laptop when Jisung enters the room. “How did the interview go?”

“It was okay,” Jisung answers, tiredly walking over to the bed located in the middle of the room so he can throw himself onto it, face first.

“You think you got the job?” Seoyeon prods, pausing whatever she’d been busy with on her laptop, and turning around in her swivel chair so she can face him.

Jisung shrugs, and rolls over onto his back. “They said they’d call,” he answers curtly, but only because he’s distracted by the glow-in-the-dark stars stuck onto Seoyeon’s pink ceiling. It’s only now that he’s realising they form certain patterns, and a particular cluster of four reminds him of another collection of four stars, drawn on a particular someone’s wrist, and— 

He sighs, closes his eyes, and forces his consciousness to focus on the here and now. 

Truthfully, regarding the job interview that Seoyeon is inquiring about – he’s pretty sure he has it in the bag. The job posting was for a junior animator at a small animation studio in Seoul, and the interview was mostly just a formality anyway, as he had been recommended for the posting by one of the team leaders there, Chan, who was a university senior of his when he attended school for two years in Seoul. He isn’t sure if he wants to take the leap and accept the offer once it’s formal – rather, he isn't sure if he’s ready to take the job, and move back to Seoul.

“Move over,” Seoyeon orders, even as she walks over and pushes him over towards one side of the bed so she can crawl in and lay beside him, the two of them, shoulder to shoulder. 

They keep still and silent for several seconds, and Jisung finds himself getting lost in the star patterns of Seoyeon’s ceiling again.

“Pink,” he says suddenly, as he once again has to force himself back to the present.

“Pink?”

“Your room,” he clarifies. “Your room is so pink.”

Seoyeon laughs. “We’ve been here for a week, and you're just noticing this now?”

Technically, Jisung's been sleeping in Seoyeon's brothers’ old room across the hall, but that hasn't really stopped him from spending most of his free time in her room anyway.

“It’s just… really super pink!” Jisung points out. “Distractingly, blindingly pink!”

“You know it's my favorite color—” 

“Yeah, but your room in Tokyo doesn't look like baby pink and fuschia vomited all over it.”

“That doesn't make sense.”

“You know what I mean!”

The two of them break into combined laughter, only to eventually trail off wheezing (Seoyeon) and coughing (Jisung).

“Hey—” It's Seoyeon who starts up the conversation again. “You know it's alright if you don't want to move back here, right?”

“Yes, Syeon, I have to admit that I absolutely do  _ not _ want to move into your parents’ house,” Jisung deadpans.

Seoyeon groans and punches his arm lightly. “'Sung!”

“I’m kidding!” Jisung huffs, rubbing the spot in his arm that she just hit. “While I do prefer  _ not _ to move in here at all, you know I know what you mean—and I appreciate you making that clear. But I promised you that I’ll think about it sincerely, and that process involves genuinely considering what opportunities are available to me back here, so—” he shrugs.

Seoyeon worked as a set PD for a long-running variety show in Japan that recently just wrapped after almost two decades of being on air. She had been unemployed for a couple of weeks when Jisung had gotten the call about his mother’s passing, and their hurry to fly back home had immediately stalled her search for a new job.

After Jisung finished up all his familial obligations in his hometown, and he joined Seoyeon at her childhood home in Seoul, she had confessed to him about feeling more homesick than even she had anticipated – and then she followed up with an admittance that one of her older brothers had tipped her in about one of the city’s bigger broadcast companies looking for junior PD’s, and that she had sent her application in.

Seoyeon asked him directly if he was willing to move back home to South Korea with her, and he hadn’t known how to answer at first. The reason he moved out of the country to begin with was because he needed distance from Minho and the overwhelming heartache that came with having to live knowing that the two of them are apparently meant to be with other people.

But it’s been years since then, and the pain has not subsided even a little, nor has hood persistent desire for Minho disappeared—clearly distance has not done him any good, and if the one person he’s Fated to be with has good reason to move back home, then he thinks he should consider it, at the very least.

Jisung first met Seoyeon half a year into his studies in Japan. Those first six months had been pretty hard on him; his anxiety around people had flared up again, worse than ever—at least when he was a child, he hadn’t known any better. As an adult, he knew what he was missing out on; it wasn’t even just about the constant feeling of missing Minho – it was also about all the other friends he had made after he allowed himself to crawl out of his shell. Hyunjin, Changbin, Chan and even Seungmin; Jeongin, who was a cute hoobae in the visual arts department at his old university, and Felix, his favorite barista at the cafe near the old boarding house he and Minho lived in – he’d left them all behind, and he was suddenly back to square one, all by himself, and the clear language barrier had only made the loneliness worse.

And then Seoyeon came into his life, finally, and just as all the thought pieces on Fated Soulmates promised, her simple presence in his life came with an immediate calming comfort. More to note was that she came into his life just as he was about to give up on all his silly childish notions about destiny and soulmates, and even though their relationship isn’t exactly the pinnacle of romance Jisung had once imagined his relationship with his Soulmate would be, she’s been by his side over the last three or four years. She has been his one constant during these last few years, and if there was something she wanted and needed, then Jisung was going to be there to offer his unbridled support.

“Thank you,” Seoyeon tells him, her hand slipping into his and giving it a squeeze. “If we move back, you’ll be closer to your family again. I know you missed them a lot.”

“That’s true,” Jisung murmurs in admittance.

“And friends,” Seoyeon adds, in a certain tone that hints at her knowing more than Jisung has admitted to her. “Like—Minho.”

Like  _ that _ exactly, Jisung thinks, as his breath hitches. Seoyeon squeezes his hand again, likely sensing the way he momentarily flinches.

“Hey, remember the first time we met?” He says instead, trying to veer away from the topic. Seoyeon turns her head to squint at him, clearly getting frustrated by the way he keeps avoiding the topic.

“Yeah,” she answers anyway, her hold on his hand loosening. “We were wearing the exact same sweater,” she recalls, laughing. “That really ugly sweater that looked like a rainbow and a leprechaun made love and… and gave birth to that hideous thing.”

Right before Jisung left South Korea for Japan, part of his dealing with the entire soulmate ordeal with Minho and Seungmin had been to download a Soulmate Search app. He had created a profile on it, but after not finding a match, he had given up on it completely – and after he moved to Japan, he forgot all about it. 

And then one Saturday afternoon, while he was out and about, taking scenery pictures to possibly use as background inspirations for a short animation project, his phone had buzzed an alert – and he could swear it had dinged louder than he had his phone volume set – and when he looked, he’d almost dropped his phone in surprise. “Soulmate Search: Possible Match Found,” was what the notification on the screen said.

All things considered, finding his Fated on a damn mobile app, even on one that boasted a 97% success rate of matching people with their destiny, was a scenario far removed from anything grand and romantic that Jisung should've known right from the start that his relationship with his soulmate wasn’t going to be anything like he used to imagine it would be.

Jisung scoffs. “One, that description doesn’t make sense—two, you realise that you just dissed your own fashion sense too?”

“At least I trashed that thing years ago! I can’t say the same for everybody in this room—”

Jisung elbows her. “It’s nice and comfortable—really worn in, and I love the bold and bright colors!”

“Yeah. Sure,” Seoyeon sniffs. “Bold and bright.” 

“I hate you.”

“Sure you do.”

“Sure—I don’t.”

Seoyeon laughs, and Jisung rolls over onto his side so he can face her. 

“Syeonnie—I’m still in love with Minho,” he blurts out.

She doesn’t say anything immediately, but Jisung notices the slight way that her jaw sets. And then her lips curl into a smile, and she rolls over onto her side as well to mirror Jisung’s position.

“I figured as much,” she muses. “So—what do you want to do about it?”

“I don’t know if there’s anything I  _ can _ do about it,” Jisung mumbles. “I don’t know if I deserve to do anything about it.”

Seoyeon stares at him, before she suddenly reaches over and pinches his stomach. Jisung groans, because that pinch veered more into painful rather than playful territory. 

“What was that for?” He whines, clutching at his tummy and wrinkling his nose at her.

“You’re an idiot, Han Jisung,” Seoyeon tells him, teeth gritted. “Don’t be an idiot. I refuse to have an idiot for a Soulmate.”

“I—” Jisung gapes, but he doesn’t know how to argue with her because he has to admit that she’s right. He  _ is _ being kind of a dumbass, but he also doesn’t really know what other course of action he has. “I left him to chase after an ideal,” he murmurs. “I left him because I thought he deserved to have his chance with Seungmin, but also because—I wanted a chance with  _ my _ Soulmate.”

“And then you got me, huh?” Seoyeon tuts. “A disappointment,” she comments, but there’s no bite to it; Jisung can tell she’s just teasing. “We had our chance, Han Jisung. It didn’t work out—maybe that’s what happened with Minho and Seungmin, too? Did he tell you that they’re happy together?”

“Well, no, but—”

But he doesn't really know because instead of asking each other how their lives with their Fated are, he and Minho had instead spent an entire weekend together absorbed in only each other. He figured they were able to do that only because they both knew that Jisung was going back to Japan soon enough anyway—which meant a short weekend tryst should have no real repercussions to their lives.

(And it felt good, Jisung thinks. It felt right—it felt like brief happiness amidst the tragedy he was still reeling from.)

Seoyeon laughs, and interrupts him quickly. “But nothing. You’re being an idiot!”

“I’m being an idiot,” Jisung repeats.

“Yes. You are,” Seoyeon reiterates, and this time, all he can do is laugh, and he finds the sound that emerges from his throat is a little bit bitter, yet also a little bit hopeful.

“So, I guess we're totally moving back home aren't we?” Jisung muses out loud.

“Just say the word,” Seoyeon agrees. “I’m jobless in Tokyo anyway.”

Jisung snorts. “Just so you know, we're finding a place of our own.”

“Right,” Seoyeon nods, joining him in laughter as she offers him her pinky. “Roommates for life!”

  
  


~

  
  


Minho clearly remembers the night when Jisung told him that he found the One for Minho.

They had been out all day – they were on  _ a date, _ as Jisung had insisted on calling it. As much time as they usually spent together, they hadn’t often gone on so-called ‘dates,’ not consciously, anyway. (Hyunjin used to say that was because every time they were together they acted like they were on a date anyway – it always gave both Minho and Jisung immense pleasure to ignore him whenever Hyunjin talked nonsense like that.)

Jisung had planned that day for the two of them; he had been so insistent on it too, even refusing to consider input from Minho.

“Trust me, hyung,” Jisung had implored. “Put your faith in me!”

“I’m an atheist,” Minho deadpanned in response. “I don’t do faith.”

Then Jisung had huffed and puffed and pouted, and Minho could only laugh while pinching and pulling at his cheeks in an attempt to distort his (way too adorable, in Minho’s opinion) expression. That was Minho’s way of biting his tongue so he could hold back from saying that he has always had complete, unadulterated faith in Jisung, if nobody else.

Well deserved, apparently, because the younger delivered perfectly. Jisung didn’t exactly come up with any sort of grand date plans, but he  _ had _ put together a simple but pretty fitting itinerary – which Minho preferred anyway.

He first took Minho to a matinee showing of a stage musical held at a small theater in his university, and then afterwards they had spent most of the afternoon at a newly opened cat cafe in Hongdae.

“I know you miss Soonie and Doongie back home,” Jisung explained, referring to the two cats Minho left in the care of his parents after he left home to live closer to his college campus. He wore a proud smile as he sipped on Iced Americano, clearly pleased at his own idea, while Minho happily played with a fat orange tabby he couldn’t get enough of.

It had been more than a good day; it was a pretty  _ great _ day, filled with playful teasing and genuine smiles shared between the two of them—and then it was time to head home, and it was while the two of them were walking from the train station, toward the direction of the boarding house they resided at, that Jisung had dropped the bomb that he’d been holding onto all day. (All  _ week,  _ if one was to be completely accurate.)

“So—” he had begun, and at that moment, his hold on Minho’s hand had tightened, like he was nervous of losing him. Minho still remembers being confused by this.

“You’re cutting off—”  _ my blood circulation, _ he meant to joke.

“I found your soulmate,” Jisung interrupted before Minho could finish his sentence. “I found your Fated,” he repeated, his voice hoarse and strained. His fingers had started to loosen their grip on Minho’s hand, and this time it was the latter who found himself tightening his hold, refusing to let go.

_ “What?!” _

Jisung was tongue tied for several seconds, and the two of them stood at the corner turn of what was their street, silent and stricken under the faint illumination of a street light.

“My classmate—my study friend in my Socio class,” Jisung mumbled, refusing to look directly at Minho. Apparently his shoes—or maybe the cracks in the sidewalk—were more interesting. “He has the same four stars inside his left wrist.”

Minho let go of Jisung’s hand, and he watched as the younger male automatically shove it inside his jacket pocket.

“Is this a joke?” He asked, and it was a wonder that he managed to keep his voice calm and steady – inside, he felt anything but.

Jisung mutely shook his head in response, and to this day, Minho clearly remembers physically feeling cracks form on his heart.

“But—I. You—” Minho had not known what to say; they never had concrete reason to believe that the two of them were Fated, and Minho had always tried to be mindful of this.  _ We never know until we know, _ was a mental mantra for a while, despite Jisung’s unbridled confidence in their connection. But any time the younger male would smile at him with such genuine devotion, and complete trust, he would feel incredibly at ease, and fulfilled, and just— _ happy,  _ that he couldn’t help but fully buy into the Soulmate spiel that Jisung has been selling to him ever since he was 17, and Minho, 19.

Love was one thing – Minho loved many people. He loved his parents, his cats, his friends – but he couldn’t even begin to imagine feeling with any other person, the same kind of emotional contentment he felt whenever he was simply with Jisung.

“Yeah.” Jisung nodded again. He sounded really distant— _ tired, _ rather; small and defeated. Minho wanted nothing more than to pull him in his arms and make everything better – but for the first time in the years that they had known each other, he had hesitated to reach for Jisung.

“No,” he whispered, surprised at how weak and hoarse his own voice sounded. “No,” he repeated, making an attempt to sound more certain, but the word came out sounding the exact same.

“Yeah—” Jisung sighed. “Yes. I told him I was going to—going to introduce you. Seungmin. That’s his name. Kim Seungmin.”

Jisung sounded like he was about to cry, and Minho couldn’t even begin to make fun of him for it like he normally would have because  _ he _ wanted to cry. His eyes remained dry, anyway, because Minho has always been expert at holding himself together. (He wasn’t sure how good a thing that was, but that was just how he always has been.)

It was his turn to nod without a word, and then the two of them were picking up their pace again, wordlessly walking next to each other up the sidewalk, and not saying anything even after they reached the boarding house.

“G’night,” Jisung told him, right before they had to separate to go to their own single bedrooms.

“‘Night,” Minho answered. There was suddenly nothing good at all about his evening despite the perfection that had been the rest of the day.

  
  


~

  
  


Seoyeon is absolutely right: Jisung  _ is _ an idiot. (“Of course I am,” Jisung can almost hear her say. “It’s my job to be right.” This is why he chooses not to reiterate this fact out loud anymore. Seoyeon knows anyway – she doesn’t need any more reminding.)

In front of her, he had resolved to pull himself together and straighten out things with Minho. All he had to do was ask if Minho still feels the same way about him, right? It should be easy because Jisung has always been a straight shooter – he talks without filter, and Minho has been the first person to ever appreciate this about him.

But it isn’t easy. In fact, it’s a lot harder than he anticipated. Every time he would scroll through his phone book, he winds up stuck simply staring at Minho’s contact details. 

‘DO NOT CALL,’ is how he has Minho’s number saved, a dramatic edit he had made when he first left for Japan four years ago, give or take. It hasn’t really done him any good, though – two years ago, after he graduated and earned a degree in digital animation, he had briefly gone back home to South Korea, and he’d called Minho anyway. It was a massive mistake on his part; Minho had agreed to meet him at what was once their favorite cafe, and when he arrived, he’d seen Minho occupying a booth, seated next to Seungmin, the two of them comfortably poring over the cafe’s menu together. He’d thought he would be okay seeing Minho again because Minho was his best friend, his  _ first _ friend, and he missed him – yet seeing Minho with the person that the universe has decreed his Other Half, it made him feel something that he isn’t sure he could describe even now.

But maybe he wasn’t one to complain as he’d brought Seoyeon along with him that day. There was very brief satisfaction in seeing something darken in Minho’s eyes when he introduced her as his Fated, but that fleeting satisfaction went by fast because Minho's possible displeasure was gone almost as soon as it appeared, replaced with a pleasant smile, and cordial greetings.

‘DO NOT CALL!!!!!!’ he had further edited the contact name later that evening, adding more exclamation marks than necessary, and now whenever he scrolls down to the name, it feels like a mockery of some sort.

The other day, when he was in line to get coffee at Starbucks, he thought he’d caught a glimpse of Minho passing by outside, and he’d panicked so bad that he left his place in the queue to go to the bathroom. He doesn’t know why he’s being so cowardly about this – maybe it’s because he has no idea what to say exactly; or maybe it’s really just that, despite Seoyeon’s constant encouragement, he still isn’t sure he deserves to say anything.

He was the one who left quite abruptly four years ago. “You deserve a chance with Seungmin,” he had declared. “And the odds for the two of you are better if I’m not around.” And then he went on and on about the kind of opportunities that would be available to him in the field of digital animation if he moved to Japan to study, and that was that.

He was a coward even then—and selfish, too. He had framed his reasoning as him wanting the best for Minho, even though he could clearly see pain and reluctance in Minho’s expression back then. He used to be so good at reading the older, after all. (He thinks he might still be, but he’s not sure he trusts his own judgment these days.) The truth was that it hurt too much, knowing someone else was made for Minho, and he was scared that he would be slowly relegated to #2 – after all, that was how the universe wanted it. So he went back to dreaming of his own Soulmate, the one destined just for him, who would always put him above all others because that was what they were put on Earth to do.

Joke’s on him, he supposes, because by leaving, he’d pulled himself down to #2 on his own—maybe even #10, or lower. Or maybe he doesn’t even rank on Minho’s list of important people anymore. But— _ that’s a lie, _ a small voice tells him at the back of his head, because Minho had looked at him with the same amount of love he always had, had touched him with the same sincere affection he always had, had just been Minho,  _ his _ Minho.

Except he isn’t sure if he has the right to call him  _ his, _ still. He left Minho so he could be with Seungmin, and for all he knows, he  _ is _ with Seungmin. Despite the amount of time they had spent together that weekend, it had been mostly filled with nostalgic reminiscing—and other activities that went beyond just talking. Jisung was too self-conscious and afraid to ask about Seungmin, and his current standing with Minho, and  _ what if Minho was just being nice because his mother just passed away? _ Every time he thought of bringing the subject up, Seungmin’s name felt heavy at the tip of his tongue, and it did nothing but help flare up his anxiety. So he stopped trying, choosing to indulge in Minho’s company instead—and now he’s paying for that threefold, by constantly running scenarios in his head where Minho flat out rejects him as soon as he tries to call and woo him back.

“I’ll just wait until I’m settled back in his Seoul,” is now his promise to himself. The small animation studio had made their job offer official, but he and Seoyeon were still weighing their options, and in an attempt to stall his romantic responsibilities, Jisung kept circling around their discussions, refusing to make actual decisions.

“Jisung—?” He almost jumps in surprise when he hears a vaguely familiar voice calling out to his name while he stood in front of a grocery store freezer, trying to decide on what drink to get, but mostly thinking about Minho instead—much like he’s constantly been doing over the last couple of weeks. “Jisung?” The voice repeats, and when Jisung turns, he’s met face to face with a familiar pretty face.

“Hwang Hyunjin!” 

Jisung’s smile is bright and wide, and absolutely authentic. The last time he saw Hyunjin was only three weeks ago, give or take, but they were significantly heavier days. It isn’t as if his burdens are much lighter now, but he’s in a much better emotional state at least, and therefore far more capable of appreciating a reunion with an old friend.

He holds his arms out, and Hyunjin, laughing, readily steps into them, easily returning the gesture by encircling his own lanky limbs around Jisung, and giving him a friendly squeeze.

“What are you doing here?” Hyunjin asks after they separate, mild confusion evident in his expression; Jisung wonders Minho told him, if anything at all. Thanks to brief catch-up he had with Hyunjin at his mother’s funeral, he’s at least aware that Hyunjin and Minho are still rooming together, so he assumes they talk a lot; as far as Minho knows, Jisung wasn’t set to stay in South Korea for long. (If Jisung is to be honest, that Minho and Hyunjin are still in each other’s lives stings a little since he had been the one to connect them, but he knows he has no right to complain.)

“Uh—trying to choose between red tea and green tea?” Jisung offers cheekily.

“Well—how about a latte instead?” Hyunjin asks. “Or—are you still obsessed with Americanos?” 

Jisung blinks owlishly, wondering why Hyunjin has chosen to make such a comment; he gave up on Americanos after he left for Japan, because silly as it was, that was his and Minho’s drink. They used to get it all the time, and Hyunjin would wrinkle his nose at them, telling them that they were just drinking glorified bitter water.

He turns back towards the cans of assorted cold drinks lining the shelves of the fridge. “Iced coffee sounds good right now,” he comments, reaching over for a blue can that was decorated with coffee beans.

“‘Sung, no—” Hyunjin laughs and steals the drink right out of his hand. “I was asking if you have time to get coffee with me right now?”

Jisung smiles at the offer – he doesn’t need long to think about it either, and soon the two of them are seated at a table by the window, at the cafe just across the street from the grocery store, with Hyunjin enthusiastically telling him about his life.

Hyunjin has always been the type to talk a lot, if a little dramatically, and when Jisung thinks about it now, he finds it funny that he’d spent most of middle school hating him. Once they had become good friends during their first year in high school, one would be hard pressed to get the two of them to stop talking over one another – albeit in a more friendly, and complementary way – whenever they were together. That was what Minho used to tell them anyway.

Maybe that’s why, somewhere down the conversation, right after Hyunjin tells him about how he’s been balancing his time moonlighting as a barre fitness instructor while trying to kick off a proper career in dancing, he asks again,

“So what are you doing here, ‘Sung?” A beat. “You've been awfully quiet.”

“Having coffee with an old friend?” Jisung answers, just as cheekily as he did the first time around.

Hyunjin scoffs. “Minho thinks—” and at this Jisung’s breath hitches, because he and Hyunjin have been talking for over half an hour now, and it’s the first time either of them has even mentioned  _ that  _ name, “—that you’re back in Japan.” Jisung nods at that, because that’s a very reasonable assumption. “He thought he was seeing things when he told me he saw you the other day at Yeongdeungpo station.”

“Oh.” He doesn’t know how to answer, because that  _ was _ probably him, on his way to meet his older brother who was in Seoul two days ago

“But you’re here right now, and this is decidedly  _ not _ Japan,” Hyunjin continues with some dramatic flourish that would normally make Jisung groan, if he wasn’t already squirming from misplaced guilt. “How long will you be here in Seoul for?”

“Uh—”

“And why in the world would you have Minho think you left when you haven’t?” His tone has shifted into something more accusatory, which annoys Jisung, but the scrutiny in Hyunjin’s gaze keeps him tongue tied—and also a little jealous, because he knows that Hyunjin is just being protective of Minho.  _ His _ Minho – except, again, Minho isn’t his anymore.

“Look—” Jisung sighs. “I originally had return tickets to Japan scheduled a week ago but… things change.”

Hyunjin arches an eyebrow. “Like what has changed?” 

“I might get a job here. Seoyeon might get a job here,” he mumbles.

There’s a pause, and Jisung focuses on finishing his now room temperature latte while he feels the weight of Hyunjin’s stare on him.

“So you’re moving back for Seoyeon?” Hyunjin asks, softer this time – a little resigned. Jisung doesn’t get it.

“Among other things… I guess?” He’s unsure what Hyunjin wants to hear from him – and he’s even more unsure as to what his own answer is.

“So it’s got nothing to do with Minho-hyung?” Hyunjin’s jaw sets; he looks upset, which, once again, Jisung doesn’t understand. 

“What—? Why—uh. Did Minho-hyung say anything?” Jisung’s brow creases and his voice sounds squeaky with uncertainty.

“I just thought—” Hyunjin sighs. “He’s been weird since that weekend you spent together, ‘Sung. He’s been moping around 24/7—well, as mopey as Minho-hyung can get, anyway. But I guess—I guess that’s understandable if you’re still with Seoyeon.”

“Seoyeon and I are Fated, Hyunjin…” Jisung trails off; the statement isn’t a lie, but it also doesn’t paint an entirely accurate picture. “Of course we’re together,” he mumbles, because  _ of course,  _ they’re together. He can’t imagine life without Seoyeon now—and as he reiterates this in his own thoughts, he remembers that once upon a time, he had thought the same of Minho. That he couldn’t imagine a life without the older—and for the life of him, he doesn’t understand anymore why he should feel differently, just because the mark on Minho’s wrist is not identical to the mark on Jisung’s neck. He looks up, and meets Hyunjin’s gaze. “Isn’t Minho-hyung with Seungmin too, anyway?” He asks, and he sincerely doesn’t know what answer he expects to hear.

Hyunjin gapes at him. “What—?” And then he laughs, loud and obnoxious, like Jisung just asked a really stupid question, and it brings Jisung back to when he was 14 and all he wanted to do was punch Hwang Hyunjin’s stupidly pretty face. “Seungminnie and hyung—” He keeps chortling. “I mean. They’re… them, I guess. You can say they’re together, because they’re Fated, and they see each other everyday and they do that thing where they read each other accurately but—that isn’t what you mean right?”

Jisung stares. He doesn’t know what he means, but he isn’t about to voice that out loud.

“Seungmin’s my boyfriend now,” Hyunjin explains, and Jisung ends up giving him a weird look because  _ what? _

“Wait—huh? What about Changbin-hyung?” He’s confused, because Changbin is Hyunjin’s rightful destiny appointed Soulmate, and he has clear memories of the two of them meeting, and connecting fast and hard. Hyunjin had fallen in love so fast, and Jisung remembers clearly noting that it was the same for Changbin. He remembers clearly because he had been utterly jealous, because theirs was the Fated Romance he always thought he would have – and instead he had ended up needing to take a step back, delegating himself as a token third wheel as Minho and Seungmin tried to work on whatever it was that they had together.

“Oh. He’s Seungmin’s boyfriend too,” Hyunjin answers, very matter-of-factly. “And mine. He’s my boyfriend too.”

Jisung gawks, because  _ what the fuck? _

Hyunjin gives him a smug look, and then he  _ giggles, _ and again, Jisung would love to punch his face, but he’s too busy being confounded to do anything else.

  
  


~

  
  


“Oh, hey, you’re home,” Seungmin observes out loud after he lets himself into the apartment, and the first thing he sees is Minho in the living room, curled up on the couch with Ppiri, absentmindedly going through his Netflix queue on the television.

“Well—” Minho looks up, watching Seungmin toe off his shoes by the doorway. “You realise this is  _ my _ home?”

Seungmin shrugs, unfazed. “Never said otherwise,” he points out; his tone would annoy Minho, but he’s far too used to Seungmin and his near constant presence by now. He can’t really complain either, because Seungmin used to come over a lot mostly because of him, and their very short-lived attempt at a romance. (Seungmin always shudders at the very mention of that time, and Minho would, too, except it amuses him too much to see Seungmin squirm, so he’s the one who always makes comments and references about those days.)

“Hyunjin’s not home yet,” Minho informs him.

“I know,” Seungmin nods, making his way over to set himself down on the chair adjacent the couch that Minho’s taken up all by himself. “Changbin-hyung is picking him up at the fitness center in—” He glances at his watch, “—around half an hour. Then they’re getting takeout for all of us.”

“Oh, so it’s another night of fourth-wheeling, huh?” Minho retorts; he doesn’t mean for it to sound biting, but a hint of resentment seeps through anyway.

Seungmin arches an eyebrow at him. “You’re free to leave us alone if you want.”

“Again— _ my _ apartment,” Minho points out.

“And that’s why we’re sharing dinner with you.”

“Would be much better if you and Changbin started paying rent,” Minho mumbles, to which Seungmin just laughs.

Silence envelopes them, especially after Minho finally manages to choose a drama to put on, but the episode isn’t even five minutes in when Seungmin leans over to snatch the remote control away from Minho and puts the show on pause.

“Hyung.” He sounds a lot more serious now, steely, almost, and Minho has an idea why. It makes him slightly wary, so instead of engaging properly, he tosses a throw pillow at the younger.

It hits Seungmin square on the face, and as Minho cracks up with laughter, the rabbit on his lap promptly hops off and away, presumably to seek some kind of refuge away from the two of them. Animals are astute, Minho has always noted, and Ppiri probably sensed weird tension he would rather not be caught in. Minho wishes things were that easy for humans.

“You scared off the rabbit!” He playfully blames Seungmin.

Seungmin isn’t caving in to his teasing, though. 

“Hyung,” he repeats, and this time, genuine concern seeps through his tone.

“Yeah?” After a beat, Minho sighs and finally acknowledges him properly, albeit with some clear caution.

“Wanna talk?”

Minho laughs. “Not really.”

Seungmin rolls his eyes. “Fine,” he huffs, petulant as ever; he hits the play button on the remote control, and the drama on screen resumes playing.

Minho just laughs more, a bit forced because he knows that Seungmin is just worried about him, despite refusing to be clear and up front about it. It isn’t even just a baseless hunch for him, or even a matter of relatability, because he  _ literally _ feels the concern emanating from the younger—it’s the kind of thing unique to Fated, after all.

Sighing, he snatches the remote control back, and this time, he turns off the TV completely.

“Remember when we dated—?” He starts, only for Seungmin to immediately groan.

“How can I forget when you never let me?” He snaps.

Minho snickers; Seungmin had seemed like a naive and bright-eyed puppy type when they first met. He had been really nice and accommodating towards Minho— _ sweet, _ even, and he had been a hundred percent genuine in his interest towards Minho. It was understandable, because 99% of the Earth’s population grows up curious about their future Fated, but it was also highly flattering, if Minho is to be honest. But then it was a confusing period in his life, and he was far too overwhelmed by the striking pain in his chest that came from having to deal with years worth of assumptions suddenly proven to be false.

“Do you think we tried enough?” He asks, and Seungmin appears confused at the inquiry – likely in part because of the sincerity laced in Minho’s tone.

“You’re seriously asking, hyung?”

Minho nods.

Seungmin chuckles, and then he shakes his head. “I’m sure we didn’t.”

Minho lifts his brow. Somehow he hadn’t expected such a straightforward answer, even though Seungmin has always been a straight-shooter, and Minho has long ago known the truth in this answer.

“I liked you, hyung,” Seungmin admits softly, and with a wince. “But I think that’s just because I expected to like you.” He laughs. “These days, I love you—but I don’t think I like you that much.”

“Oh?” Minho chortles, and then he hits Seungmin with another pillow. There’s playfulness in the younger’s tone, but he wouldn’t be surprised if Seungmin means exactly what he said. Their relationship is a pretty complicated one – despite sharing soul marks, the two of them seldom see eye to eye on most things. Minho has always wondered how much of that was his fault. “Wait—” He grins, and focuses on a particular part of Seungmin’s declaration. “You love me, huh?” 

“Unfortunately!” Seungmin rolls his eyes again. “Totally not by choice!” He adds, right before he childishly sticks his tongue out at Minho, who only laughs even louder. Seungmin is usually so much more mature and collected, but somehow Minho knows exactly all the right buttons to push. He won’t be surprised if that’s part of why Seungmin apparently doesn’t like him. 

“If you say s—” Minho sing-songs, only for a pillow to meet his face in the middle of his sentence. 

“In all seriousness, hyung—” Seungmin sighs. “Of course I care about you. I can’t help but be fine tuned to everything you’re feeling, and that kind of empathy—that naturally breeds care and concern. I can’t help but be invested in your well-being.”

“Seungminnie, you’re rambling,” Minho chastises him, only because he can tell that Seungmin is all set to go on a lengthy monologue, and the way his words have allowed a gentle comfort to bloom from his chest, slowly spreading across his entire system, is nice but somewhat embarrassing.

After Jisung introduced Minho to Seungmin, they had a conversation that Minho still thinks about every so often. He had told Minho about a supposed feeling – a so-called ache that unmatched adults feel the entire time leading up to their first meeting with their Fated—their supposed ‘other half.’

“Have you felt it all this time?” Jisung had asked. “These last two years—have you had any sort of chronic phantom pain, hyung?” He’d looked frustrated, unsure about his own words, but Minho immediately knew what he was talking about, which was why he hadn’t immediately known how to answer. 

He  _ has  _ had that constant hollow ache in his gut ever since his soulmark completely appeared on his wrist, but he hadn’t minded it. He’d ignored it completely, to the point that he had convinced even himself of its non-existence. After all, the thought of the universe giving him someone other than Jisung, was a much sharper, unbearable sort of pain.

The way Jisung’s expression had crumpled at Minho’s telling silence when he asked the question – even that had been much more painful.

He thinks about that conversation now, as he considers the way that his brief time with Seungmin  _ had _ given him an unfamiliar, somewhat eerie, sort of comfort. Even now that they’ve disavowed all sorts of romance between the two of them, Seungmin’s presence still has a calming effect on him, and he assumes that it’s true the other way as well. This is why he has never minded Seungmin’s constant hanging around, even after they broke up, almost three years ago already.

And yet, despite the kind of ease Seungmin’s mere presence offered, Minho never stopped feeling that dull ache – never stopped feeling like he was looking for something to fill that hollowness. 

“Look, hyung—” Seungmin inhales deeply, before he turns to face Minho squarely. “You asked if we tried hard enough to make us work, and the plain truth is that we didn’t. We  _ tried, _ and we had good and bad, and well,  _ awful _ times, and neither of us really worked on making sure that the good outweighed the other stuff. This is because you never stopped being in love with Jisung, and I’m not the type to chase after someone who clearly isn’t into me—no matter what the universe says.” Minho’s breath hitches, because he wants to say something – wants to counter what Seungmin is saying, but nothing comes out because he knows that Seungmin is on point with everything he’s said so far; apparently, he isn’t even done either, as he continues, “Whatever romantic potential we had fizzled pretty quickly, but—and I swear to God, there’s no way I’m admitting this to anybody else—that absolutely hurt my heart and my pride, because who the fuck are you to reject  _ me,  _ and to reject me not even directly, but only through clear, constant pining over someone I consisdered a friend. But you know what, hyung?”

He actually pauses, but Minho is still only able to give him half a nod in response.

“You and I, hyung, we’re soulmates—decreed by destiny, and all powers that be as two halves that complete each other, but that isn’t why we’re still friends. You’re surprisingly a good guy, hyung—a loyal friend, and a person who loves with all their heart. That’s why I truly wish you the best, and not just because I always feel it when you’re sad, which is pretty much a constant with you, even though you never show anyone. You deserve to be happy, hyung, so if you want to be with Jisung, you should do something about that.”

Minho stares at him, appreciative for everything he’s just said, but hard pressed to voice any of that appreciation out loud.

“Rambling, Seungmin,” he teases softly.

“Insufferable, Minho,” Seungmin shoots back, but the twinkle in his eyes show Minho that Seungmin truly understands whatever is unsaid between them.

Absolute truth: Minho had been quite determined to make things work with Seungmin at the beginning, and he supposes whatever good times Seungmin had referred to, were all mostly from that period. The thing is, in a really fucked up way, that genuine attempt had been all about Jisung as well. Jisung wanted nothing more than to find his own Fated, and if it wasn’t him, then Minho figured he was going to help by taking himself out of the equation.

Hindsight? 20/20, and now Minho can clearly see how silly and fallible his once logic was.

“Does that make me weird?” Minho murmurs. “Am I not normal for always having wanted someone other than my Fated?” He turns to look at Seungmin, who actually  _ laughs. _

“Hyung—I’m in love with my soulmate’s roommate,  _ and _ my soulmate’s roommate’s soulmate, and by some weird twist of—I don't want to say fate, but in some weird contrivance of life, they happen to be in love with me too.” He gives Minho a pointed look, and then he chortles some more. “So yeah, hyung, I don’t think you get to wallow in your weirdness by yourself.”

“Fair enough,” Minho nods. “You and Hyunjin are somehow both completely in love with Changbin, so you both take the cake for weirdness,” he jokes, only to get unceremoniously shoved by Seungmin.

“Hyung, the universe can make sure that we have someone who will never make us feel lonely—but that doesn’t mean it has a hand in who we actually want in our lives,” Seungmin tells him. “That’s what i’ve figured out anyway.” 

He feels lighter; if Seungmin can put it that way, then he supposes all he can do is laugh, and accept this kind of new normal he and his friends have found for themselves. 

Well—that, and hopefully, get Jisung on board with them, as well. 

  
  


~

  
  


When Jisung was a college freshman, everything he wanted in life seemed to practically be within reach. He had just gotten into a school he has always wanted to go to, ever since he’d first read about their digital animation program when he was only fifteen, and circumstances pretty much handed him the opportunity to live with his—boyfriend? He’s not sure if he would have referred to Minho as his boyfriend, and the two of them never called each other  _ boyfriends  _ either; they were Minho and Jisung, and they were just  _ Them,  _ and ‘boyfriend’ seemed too trivial a label to be used.

Anyway—he was given the chance to live with Minho on a silver platter, and life was great, especially because he’d finally learned how to exist outside of his personal bubble. He actually made friends in school, and it’s thanks to one of these friends that he's now managed to find a job in Seoul so quickly.

“Let’s celebrate,” Chan had texted him a few days ago, after his new hiring had been confirmed. Jisung, eager to reconnect with friends, especially after coffee with Hyunjin had him longing for his old connections, had been quick to say yes. He’d briefly seen Chan on the day he interviewed, but the older (who always has been a consummate workaholic now that he thinks about it), had been too busy. Chan was the leader of a team that was cramming before close deadlines, so he and Jisung mostly just exchanged quick greetings, and a promise to catch up soon.

It was a promise that was at least kept, and as soon as Chan found some free time, he and Jisung managed to coordinate their schedules so they could get drinks together.

Unfortunately for Jisung, even at 25, his alcohol tolerance hasn’t really improved much since he started drinking at 19, and barely even two bottles of soju in, he’s already past the point of tipsy – which explains the uncontrollable, hazy trip down memory lane.

“‘Sung—maybe you should pace yourself,” Chan comments, trying to place his hand over one of the shot glasses that Jisung is pouring soju into. It doesn’t help any, because Jisung simply snatches the shot that was meant for Chan, quickly bringing it up to his lips and downing the contents in one go. “Or—” Chan snorts and shakes his head. “You can do that.”

Jisung flashes a big, silly grin; he’s feeling a bit lightheaded already, but he kind of likes it. Chan is someone he used to look up to like an older brother, so he feels safe, letting himself go like this with the older man.

“Hyung—” He starts, chuckling. “Remember that time, when you invited me to your apartment for drinks? ‘Twas the winter after my freshman year wasn’t it—?”

Chan laughs. “Yeah—told you to come celebrate with me and some friends, and you arrived at my door with a couple of your friends.”

Jisung giggles, a little too giddy as he pours more shots for both of them; Chan doesn’t bother trying to stop them this time around. 

“Wasn’t that when Hyunjin and Binnie-hyung met?” Jisung laughs; his voice is getting louder, gathering him a few stray glances from other patrons of the drinking tent, but he doesn’t care—or more accurately, he doesn’t notice. “Imagine—imagine not even officially turning 20 yet, and already meeting The One!” He huffs. “That Hyunjin was always one lucky motherfucker.”

A little anxious about turning up alone at Chan’s apartment – mostly because the older had mentioned also having some other friends of his over, none of whom Jisung were very close with – he had asked if some of his own friends could also come with, and as soon as Chan agreed, he had not hesitated in dragging both Minho and Hyunjin along with him.

It was at that party where Hyunjin, whose fleur-de-lis mark on his stomach was already quite prominent despite his actual 20th birthday still a little close to two months away, somehow finally found the one other person in the world who bore the exact same mark, on the exact same spot on their body.

It had been a sight to behold – not because it seemed like a dramatic scene from a movie, or anything like that. Rather, it was special in it’s subtlety – in the way Changbin’s eyes had widened after Hyunjin’s shirt had ridden up while he was reaching for something high up on Chan’s kitchen shelf, and in the way it was like Hyunjin had been relieved of a physical burden with how his entire demeanor loosened up when Changbin laughed and showed him his identical mark.

Something had stirred inside Jisung – it was partly happiness for his friends, but partly something more that he couldn’t even begin to articulate. He remembers exchanging a look with Minho as Changbin and Hyunjin huddled in a corner of the apartment, and laughing in quiet understanding as their eyes met. At the time he thought they could relate—could understand that instant feeling of connection, because it was something they shared as well.

“Yeah,” Chan agrees, chuckling as he himself seems to get lost in recalling that night. “You got pretty smashed and started excitedly hugging people. Telling everyone at the party that you hoped to get to know them better.”

Jisung blinks; he has a vague recollection of what Chan is saying, but his here and now is somewhat fuzzy, and despite the barrage of memories, he has a hard time picking which hazy ones to focus on.

“And then—do you remember Minho saying that you needed to get some air and sober up?” Chan laughs, and Jisung stares, because this time around, the image that Chan offers up is clear to him as day.

He had been hugging Bambam, he thinks, Chan’s foreign exchange student friend from Thailand, squeezing him tightly and declaring, just as Chan recalled, his extreme desire to be closer and become best friends. He sort of remembers Minho, laughing as he worked on untangling Jisung from Bambam, who looked more entertained than anything else, and he remembers Minho offering quick apologies in behalf of Jisung.

He definitely remembers draping himself all over Minho, using  _ him _ for support once Minho was able to wrestle him away from Bambam. 

“Let’s get you some air,” Minho had told him, amusement and fondness both evident in his tone. “Sober you up some before you regret this night completely.”

And then Minho led him outside the tiny balcony; he remembers clearly, the feeling of the older’s fingers as they gently ran through his hair (newly dyed blonde, for the first time ever – done, of course, with Minho’s help), while they both inhaled the night air. The winter cold certainly helped sober Jisung up, enough for him to be able to look back and remember what happens next in clear, perfect detail, but not enough for him to get his inhibitions back up, and control himself enough not to do what he did next.

“I love you.” The words spilled out of him smoothly, accompanied by a wide and silly grin. He clearly recalls reaching out to cup Minho’s cheek, and staring at the older who looked, well—he looked  _ beautiful, _ as usual. Ethereal, even in his inebriated state. More than that, though, Minho bore a certain kind of expression – curious and fond, and he had a way of regarding Jisung that made the latter feel warm, and giddy all over, and— 

“I LOVE LEE MINHO!” He had yelled out to the view of the city spread in front of them – sort of, because Chan’s apartment was on the 4th floor of a mere 6-storey building, and the view they were offered wasn’t particularly wide or spectacular. He felt like shouting into the dark city void anyway. From inside Chan’s apartment, he was sure that everyone’s attention had turned on them, and the performance display that he was offering. But it wasn’t a performance just for the sake of show, and Minho knew it too, and it had pleased Jisung, the way the older flushed – he wasn’t even sure if it was out of embarrassment over his words, or something else, but again, in his alcohol addled state, Jisung couldn’t really bring himself to care.

His only point of concern right then and there, were the overwhelming emotions he was experiencing. “I’m in love with you, hyung,” he said, and this time around, Minho had clapped a hand over his mouth, chuckling as he broke eye contact, and his cheeks grew an even deeper shade of red.

“Yes, Jisung. The entire apartment heard—the entire  _ city _ heard.”

“I loff hyu,” Jisung repeated again anyway, ignoring Minho’s deadpan tone; his words were muffled and barely audible thanks to Minho’s hand still covering his mouth, but the point was just for him to say the words – over and over until he stopped feeling like he was going to explode from everything he had been feeling at once.

Now—he feels hot, so hot and flushed, and Jisung isn’t sure if that’s solely because of the alcohol. He knows he’s admitted to still feeling so much for Minho, but this time around, he’s hit with them so viscerally. It’s one thing to  _ know _ he has them feelings, but another thing entirely to be overwhelmed by them completely. He orders more soju, and even though Chan lifts a questioning eyebrow at him, he doesn’t protest. Jisung’s heart feels full, somehow – he  _ loves _ Minho. He was in love with Minho, and he’s in love with Minho now, and it’s been weeks since he told Seoyeon he was going to fix this little affliction, but here he is, still unable to take the first step towards any sort of action.

“Help,” he croaks out, eyes feeling like they’re burning, only for Jisung to realise that the sting is coming from welled-up tears. “I still love Minho,” he whispers, and Chan is immediately beside him, his warm, comforting hand moving down his back in quiet support.

Minho never said it back then, he realises now. And once upon a time, that was alright, because he could read Minho clear enough that he didn’t need the shallow validation of something as silly as words. That’s what he probably told himself, anyway, because now, as he frantically searches his memories for a reassurance of what he once assumed were Minho’s feelings only to come up blank, he slowly figures out why he’s so afraid to make any kind of move. 

“How do you want me to help, ‘Sung?”

Jisung shrugs, and hands Chan a shot glass that’s filled to the brim with alcohol. “Drink,” he demands, a giggle shooting up from his throat. He likely looks stupid, with tears in his eyes and stupid, obnxious laughter coming out of him, but he’s drunk, just like fifty percent of the people around him, and he can’t bring himself to really care. “Let’s drink to feelings, hyung!”

Maybe with enough alcohol in his system, he’ll be able to pull together enough courage to face whatever it is that needs facing.

  
  


~

  
  


Bang Chan – that’s a name that Minho has only really heard in passing the last few years, usually when Changbin is over and has a story that would briefly involve the older male. He was always Jisung’s friend, and simply Minho’s acquaintance, and even though they still have overlapping social circles, Minho’s never really had reason to contact him after Jisung left. So when his phone screen lights up and Chan’s name pops up, Minho is understandably confused—especially considering that the digital clock on the same phone screen reads 2:38 AM.

“Minho, hello—is this you?” Is how Chan greets him.

“Uh, yeah?” 

_ “Oh, good. For a second, _ I was worried you might have  _ changed numbers,” _ Chan says; he’s switching randomly between Korean and English, and Minho can tell there’s a very slight slur present in the way he says some of the words. He figures Chan has been drinking, but he still doesn’t know why he called.

“Chan-hyung? Why are we talking?” He asks bluntly.

_ “Oh, right, mate— _ sorry,” Chan chuckles. “Yeah,  _ this is Bang Chan.  _ Did I  _ wake you up?  _ Sorry if I did.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Minho tells him; he was only just about to head to bed anyway. To be frank, he’s been having a hard time sleeping recently so he’s been staying up late, binging on dramas available on Netflix. “What’s going on?”

“Jisung,” Chan says, and just like that Minho is completely alert.

“What about—?” He asks; he’s still confused because as far as he’s concerned, Jisung isn’t even in Seoul, or South Korea anymore. “Isn’t he supposed to be back in Tokyo by now?”

“Nah, his flight is  _ this weekend. Right now,  _ he’s completely drunk—not  _ pass out drunk,” _ Chan laughs, “but you know how he gets when he’s had a  _ little too much.” _

“Wait—” Chan hasn’t even explained why he called, but Minho is already grabbing his car keys and a jacket, because he has a hunch he knows exactly where this conversation is going. “Send me your location?”

Chan hums. “I haven’t even asked yet, but— _ yeah I’ll send it.” _

“Okay, thanks.”

He’s about to hang up, when he hears the amused trill of Chan’s laughter pass through the line.

“What’s funny?” He asks, as he slips on a pair of sneakers.

_ “You,” _ Chan simply answers; and there’s a soft click, and Minho is left realising that the older male has hung up on him.

The drive to the location Chan gave him doesn’t take twenty minutes to get to, and when Minho arrives at the drinking tent, he immediately spots Chan and Jisung seated at a table together. Jisung is turned away from him, head slumped and resting on the table, but Chan spots him immediately and is quick to wave him over. Minho counts almost a dozen soju bottles between them, and it has him lifting an eyebrow at Chan, because once upon a time, they both knew just how bad Jisung was at getting drunk.

He sighs once he reaches them, and as if Jisung immediately senses his presence, he shoots up to a sitting position, head whipping around towards his direction. Their gazes meet, and Jisung’s eyes widen at once in surprise. It’s clear that Chan didn’t tell him that Minho was coming.

“Minho-hyung!” A wide grin splits across his cheeks, and then he’s practically attacking Minho as he lunges forward to give him an excited hug. “Minho-hyung,” he repeats, tightening his hold around Minho, while burrowing eagerly into the crook of his neck. 

“Um—” Minho glances at Chan for some answers, but the older is quick in averting his gaze, while also quite obviously holding back laughter. He sighs and allows his own arms to encircle around the smaller male, and he tries not to smile at how nice it feels to have Jisung in his arms. “Why are you here?”

“Channie-hyung’s treat,” Jisung mumbles, his breath warm and ticklish against Minho’s skin. 

“No—I mean, here in Seoul?”

“Oh!” Jisung pulls away, but the silly smile remains on his features. “I’m moving back home!” He declares proudly, causing Minho to freeze and look at Chan for answers again. “Didn’t Hyunjin tell you?!”

“Hyunjin—?” Does his roommate know something he doesn’t? Minho can’t help but make a mental note to wring Hyunjin’s neck once he gets back home, for keeping things from him, if nothing else. “Chan-hyung said your flight is this weekend—?” 

“Yeah!” Jisung nods and throws his head back. “To get my things!”

“And to finish loose ends at your last job,” Chan echoes.

“That, too!” Jisung nods enthusiastically.

Minho stares blankly, processing—Jisung is moving back? This was not what he made Minho believe when they last saw each other a few weeks ago, and he can't help but wonder if maybe, somehow, he's got something to do with the change of plans.

“Anyway, mates, my ride’s here,” Chan announces, briefly flashing his phone screen at them, and letting Minho catch a glimpse of it open to a ride sharing app. “You two, well— _ you've got a lot to talk about, I think.” _

Jisung wrinkles his nose but he pulls away long enough to give Chan a farewell hug. “Take care, hyung!”

And then it's just the two of them, air stifled with tension as Minho leads Jisung back to his car. He helps him into the passenger seat—helps him be buckled into the seat. Jisung has grown considerably more quiet between the walk from the drinking tent, to Minho’s car and Minho isn't sure what it means or how he feels about it.

“Oh.” He realises something after he gets into the driver's seat and he starts the engine. “Where are you staying?”

“Ah.” Jisung’s eyes are closed, and he sounds a little like he has cotton in his mouth. “We're staying with Seoyeon's parents right now but we're moving out next month.”

Right, Seoyeon, and it now just dawns on Minho that  _ of course, _ Jisung is moving back to South Korea with her. 

With a sigh, he hands Jisung a half empty bottle of water. “Drink up so you don't get dehydrated,” he instructs. “Do you have Seoyeon's address?”

“Mmm,” he takes the water and gulps it down, shaking his head after. “Don't want to go back there right now. Don't want her parents to see me drunk.”

Minho frowns. “Where am I taking you then?”

“Can we just—” Jisung inhales deeply, and Minho starts to think that he might not be as drunk as he seemed earlier, when Chan was around. “Hyung, let's drive around until the sun comes up?”

Minho snorts. “Okay, you can pay for gas later,” he comments, even though he doesn't mean it.

“Okay,” Jisung agrees quietly.

There's virtually no traffic, and Minho just drives around city streets, turning left, then right, then left again, arbitrarily picking directions only when forks in the road come up.

Jisung remains silent, staring out the window, his shallow breathing the only sound echoing in the cramped space of the car.

“Are you awake?” Minho asks at one point, his voice barely a whisper. Jisung doesn't immediately respond, so Minho assumes he’s passed out, but then,

“Mhm,” he hums softly.

Minho sighs, because he doesn’t really have a follow up, but the atmosphere feels like it's calling for some sort of confrontation.

“You still drunk?”

“Not as drunk as I wish I was,” Jisung answers honestly, which makes Minho chuckle.

He wonders if this is it – the opportunity he’s been waiting for to make his feelings clear. He’s wary, because if Jisung is staying with Seoyeon at her parents’ home, then surely that meant  _ something,  _ right? Something not good for  _ him, _ he assumes.

His thoughts feel chaotic again, despite the clarity he thought he’d come to after his conversation with Seungmin. What does he gain if he declares his long standing feelings now, and it turns out that it’s too late? What if Jisung chooses his Soulmate, just like he’s meant to, then what happens to Minho and his heart?

_ Well, what do you lose?  _ He almost hears Seungmin castigating him.  _ Nothing. _

He supposes… Seungmin wouldn’t be wrong. The only thing he and Jisung share now are memories of a distant past, and a recent fleeting weekend that’s given him a sneak peek of what could be if things miraculously go his way.

Minho has been going to the public library a lot recently, looking up stories and journal articles on non-Fated falling in love. The odds, admittedly, aren’t on his side. Happily ever after seemed to be a concept designed mostly for Soulmates, and non-Fated who end up together are very rare, especially among people who find their other halves at an early age, like Minho and Jisung did, both of them having met Seungmin and Seoyeon when they were only twenty-two.

Then again, he reasons – he found Jisung even earlier, anyway, and Jisung found him. Maybe,  _ just maybe, _ that counts for something.

His thoughts getting too preoccupied, he finds himself pulling the car up to the side of the road. Jisung turns to him in confusion, and instead of offering an explanation, he unbuckles his seatbelt, and then he turns to face Jisung.

His first instinct is to lean in and kiss Jisung silly—that’s exactly what happened the last time they were in this car, together, but this time he manages enough self control to stay still.

“I need to tell you something,” he announces, and Jisung mods slowly, eyes blown wide in curiosity. “You’re really not drunk?”

Jisung snorts. “I’m lucid,” he answers. “But I’ll probably fail a breathalyzer.”

Minho chuckles. “As long as you remember what I’m about to say.”

“Hyung,” Jisung says, voice firm. “Out with it.”

Minho has never been good at expressing himself with words, and even now, what he wants to say gets stuck in his throat initially. “I—” he begins, only to choke, and cough repeatedly. Jisung doesn't say anything, and he simply continues to stare, looking uncharacteristically patient. “I love you,” Minho finally manages to say, and when the words finally leave his mouth, it’s as if he’s been relieved of a massive burden – more specifically, ten years worth of feelings, bundled up and carried through all sorts of ups and downs. 

Jisung still doesn’t say anything at first, but his brow furrows visibly, and Minho near panics – this is it, he thinks. This is when Jisung tells him he’s too late.

“I don’t—” He sighs. “I don’t know where you’re at with Seoyeon now, and if you tell me you’re perfectly happy with her, then I’ll back off—” He inhales deeply, and when Jisung still doesn’t open his mouth in the next breath, Minho keeps going. “But I think you still have feelings for me—that you love me like I love you, and I guess even if you tell me that you don’t, I just need you to know that anyway. I don’t think I ever let you know before—especially that I was in love.” He chuckles and finally averts his gaze. “That I  _ am _ in love. With you.”

“Hyung—” Jisung finally croaks out, and very quickly, Minho looks up to meet his gaze. 

He waits for Jisung to say more, but the next thing he knows, Jisung is reaching for him, fingers lightly pressing against the back of his neck as he pulls Minho towards him, until their noses are touching, 

“I’m in love with you too,” Jisung whispers softly, right before he captures Minho’s lips with his own.

Jisung tastes like alcohol, with a hint of fermented radish, and normally Minho would blanche at that, but this is Jisung, and he always tastes sweet and thrilling to Minho. He parts his lips, gasping as their tongues meet and curl around each other.

“Seoyeon and I—” Jisung starts, breathless after they pull away for air. “We live together—you know. Like you and Hyunjin live together.”

“Oh.” Minho blinks. “So you’re not…?”

“She’s important to me,” Jisung admits, sighing as he leans closer to rest his forehead against Minho’s shoulder. “She’s my best friend, my soulmate—my universally labeled other half.” He chuckles, nuzzling against Minho's check. “But she isn’t you, hyung,” he whispers. _ “She isn’t you.” _

  
  


~

  
  


When Jisung wakes up in the morning, the first thing he notices is that he’s surrounded by Minho’s smell. Despite the minor hangover that’s plaguing him, he can't help but smile immediately, especially when he recognises the sturdy pair of arms wrapped around his midsection. He leans back, pressing his back against the familiar warmth of Minho’s chest and he lets it sink in that last night wasn't a dream.

He feels something shift in the air, so when he turns around to face Minho, he doesn't hesitate in poking him between the eyes. “I know you’re awake,” he says matter-of-factly.

Minho doesn’t open his eyes, but Jisung easily notices the way his jaw tightens – a sign that he’s trying not to smile or laugh. 

“G’morning, hyung,” he greets, poking Minho in the stomach this time; in response, Minho simply tightens his hold around him. Jisung doesn’t mind at all.

He knows he got pretty smashed last night, but he remembers parts of the evening in bright flashes. He remembers pouring shot after shot, for him and Chan—and he remembers Chan calling someone. He’s pretty sure he couldn’t tell who it was, despite hearing Chan’s side of the conversation so clearly, but he also remembers Minho showing up and he remembers the ecstasy he felt when he’d turned and seen Minho, right there.

He remembers a calmness washing over him the moment he’d stepped into Minho’s car, which was strange, because the air between them was thick and heavy with so many unsaid things. And then everything unsaid was finally voiced out—and Jisung realises that was why he was at ease to begin with. With Minho, he still has a pretty accurate sense, even though he had started to doubt it.

And then Minho had taken him home with him, and as Minho snuck him into the apartment, they’d passed Changbin in the kitchen area, halfway through drinking a tall glass of water – he just stared at them briefly, before shaking his head and heading back to Hyunjin’s room, muttering what Jisung is pretty sure was something along the lines of, “Must be dreaming.”

And Jisung had cackled – because it  _ wasn’t _ a dream, it was  _ reality, _ and that gave him the best feeling of all.

He used to tell Minho that they were lucky – that was when he had believed, from the bottom of his heart, that the two of them were Fated Soulmates whose lives intertwined before they were twenty. Jisung used to read up on the probability of this happening, and statistics say that Fated who meet before their marks appear anywhere on their body are very rare, and only occur for 5% of the world’s general population.

And then they’d been slapped with reality check, and for a while Jisung stopped believing in luck.

“Hyung,” he murmurs, lips ghosting against the cut of Minho’s jaw. “I’ve come to a final conclusion that we are very fortunate.”

Minho sighs, and finally opens his eyes, nuzzling his nose against Jisung’s as he does so. “It’s too early for this, but okay, I’ll bite—elaborate.”

Jisung beams. “I have you—and I have Seoyeon. I don’t just have one person I can trust with my life—how many people can say that in this day and age?”

Minho chuckles. “You know what—you might have a point, because I have you, and I have Seungmin, for better or for worse—and I have Hyunjin, and Changbin, and—” He laughs some more. “I think, maybe, we’re not meant to just lean on one person, Jisung, no matter what kind of unbreakable connection the universe gifts you with someone.”

Jisung nods slowly; now that he’s older, he doesn’t know why he’d always assumed that was to be the case. Even now, as he thinks about his parents, and their happy romance that was made for the books, all he can think about is the amount of people who had turned up at her mother’s funeral, armed with lovely stories about her, and offering genuine sympathy for their family – and it dawns on him that this is because even his parents had made real connections outside of just each other.

“And—’Sung, now that you’re back, I’m sure those three idiots—Hyunjin and Changbin and Seungmin—would prove capable of being trusted with your life, too. I know I trust them with mine. But—” Minho snickers, ticklish and electrifying against Jisung’s skin, “—don’t tell them I actually said that, okay?”

“I don’t know,” Jisung snorts. “I’ll think about it,” he adds in sing-song, only to shriek when Minho suddenly tackles him and attacks him with a flurry of kisses all over his face.

People don’t thrive on a strictly paired-up basis, Jisung thinks, and it’s silly that it took him so many years to really grasp this concept. You don’t function with just one Fated, and at the end of the day, you love who you love—and the universe shouldn’t have any say in who you  _ choose _ to be with. Soulmates aren’t a fixed science – they're inexplicable, and maybe even somewhat magical, which means there are no rigid rules to the concept. 

Jisung once read that the probability of finding your soulmate is 98.645% – finding the One for you is normal,  _ expected. _ But the probability of connecting with someone on an even deeper, undefinable level than that? Jisung doesn't think there are studies for that just yet. He and Minho are an anomaly, probably, but — at least they’re a pair of extremely lucky anomalies.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


fin.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you for making it to the end! Hopefully you enjoyed this for what it was despite the... well, the drama. Haha. Feedback, of course, would be much appreciated.  
> [TWT](http://twitter.com/hanmings) && [CC](http://curiouscat.me/yiminho)


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